Miranda: The Space That Separates
by hardboiledgregg
Summary: Having left the organisation that had been her home for the past twenty years, and facing a life in hiding, Miranda struggles to find her place in the galaxy. Further compounded by a past that refuses to let go. A story based around what Miranda got up to after Mass Effect 2 and during Mass Effect 3, written from a first-person perspective.
1. Chapter 1

**I've not written anything like this before, with my background being in screenwriting. Decided to practise both writing in prose and female characterisation, and what better character than Miss Lawson?  
**

**Feedback and constructive criticism welcome, in all regards. Apologies in advance if I keep coming back and tweaking bits here and there, as I'm still hammering out some of the story details.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Prologue**

I'm telling him he doesn't have to go, though I'm aware that won't convince him. Not even I believe the words. Am I just talking to fill the silence? He's too quiet. Something's wrong.

When it comes to the Reapers, there is no choice. I would've done exactly the same, without a second thought. It's about the bigger picture.

His head drops, it all weighs heavy on him. Why did he have to go alone? One moment, he's off to rescue a friend; the next, he's destroyed the Alpha Relay and a star system along with it.

Yes, I understand. Someone's got to take the blame. Now is not the time for war with the batarians.

A rush of blood to the head, gripping his arms, I make a foolish suggestion: run. We know what's at stake, and we've got the ship; we can strike out on our own.

He's taking my hands in his, telling me it's going to be all right. I believe him. I have to.

* * *

**Chapter One**

The view's beautiful, I can say that much.

Countless shuttles make their way across the Illium skyline; all in orderly lanes. Something about this I find soothing, hypnotic almost. Bright, soundless objects drifting against a purple backdrop, above and between architecture so varied and beautiful.

The past couple of months have left me directionless, lacking in structure. For the whole of my life, I've had a purpose, whether I liked it or not. Without Cerberus, without the Normandy and crew, I'm alone. And it feels so stupid to admit it, even to myself. I don't have any friends, and I'm not too good at making them. Or keeping them. I know how to manipulate, how to command. How to use.

In Shepard's absence, the crew had disbanded. For some, it was only ever a short tenure, but for me it had become a home; as much a home as I'd ever have anyway. They'd done their part in the fight against the Collectors. Some of them even took orders from me, if only for a short while. They never liked me, but I could tell they respected my leadership. I'd be lying if I said it had ever been any different.

Thankfully, I'm not completely alone. I have Ori, bless her. Of course, that's another distant relationship, quite literally. But it's enough. Heaven knows, I'd probably fall apart without her right now.

I snap myself out of a daydream; I'm watching the shuttles again when I should be checking the faces of the people passing by. Not that I was hoping to recognise anyone; quite the opposite, in fact. I can't afford to let my guard down, even for a second.

The news continues its loop once again. My routine has brought me here on a few occasions, listening for any information on the Alliance, never visiting the same place too often or too long. I'm afraid to use the extranet here. Illium's a good place for becoming anonymous; I just don't trust the security. That's something I'll have to handle myself.

Over my shoulder, I catch a man studying me from further down the balcony; pupils dilated, lips parted. I stand straight and meet his sunken eyes with a stern look. A smirk creeps onto his face, allaying my fears: he's leering. Not an uncommon sight, but an unwelcome one at this particular moment. He's harmless, but it's time to move on; I'm attracting too much attention. I need a new location, one with a view.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

That last trip was risky, but necessary. I shouldn't think I'm too welcome in Alliance space. Then again, not many places can be considered safe for someone like myself anymore. I certainly can't stay in the Terminus Systems: too many damn mercs. Think we might have pissed off a few, or _all_, of them somehow. A passing memory brings a smile to my face, but I can only afford it a moment. I've got to stay focused for meeting my contact.

Arvuna's a beautiful place. Mostly water and a warm climate, but the Alliance has established some thriving terra-formed colonies round the equator. Once again, though, can't enjoy the view for too long. I'm not even going to chance the wildlife in case 'father's gifts' didn't account for whatever the hell kind of diseases they've got here.

I stride towards the outpost, a picture of confidence. A few heads turn; Alliance soldiers getting their eyeful. Nothing to worry about.

Inside, the cool air hits me and it feels clean, good. A relief after my journey on a less-than-respectable vessel and the stuffy atmosphere that greeted me on arrival. Already, I can tell the new lifestyle's going to take some adjustment.

The scanner's beep gives me the OK, and I proceed towards the main desk. He spots me immediately.

"Yvonne! Is that you?"

I can't say I'm fond of the name, and it feels more suited to a blonde. Although, I seem to recall other identities with worse monikers.

"Jamie, so good to see you." The clerk is all fresh-faced and smiles. Cute, in a naive sort of way.

Our exchange has grabbed the attention of other men there already. He notices this, puts his papers to one side and leans forward over the desk, "Haven't seen you in a while. You're looking well, Miss Stryker."

Oh, yes, it gets worse. Terrible surname, but 'Yvonne Stryker, Galactic Bounty Hunter' has a certain ring to it, I reckon.

"I have a favour to ask."

"You always do."

"It's..." I hesitate, trying to find the right word without revealing too much, "...important."

"How important?" He looks me up and down. "We should go for some drinks. Catch up."

I knew this was a stupid idea. I'd met him in a bar, fake persona, lots of empty flirting, and used him for information on a few occasions. Now, I'd been perfectly business-like, no small-talk, yet he was expecting more. I suppose I only have myself to blame. What choice do I have? No use trying to force the issue right away.

"Sounds like a good idea." I'm beaming, hopeful it's masking the worry in my eyes. "I'm travelling a bit light though, so don't expect a picture of glamour to come meet you."

"You look beautiful just the way you are."

"You charmer. Is Avalon still the best place?" He nods eagerly. "Excellent. I'm sure I'll find you in there later."

With time to kill, I find an apartment with extranet access. Got to check on Oriana, along with any developments regarding Shepard's incarceration. I'm fuelling the misguided hope that everything's worked out and I don't even need to be here.

Ori lets me know her and her family have settled in alright. I hated having to completely uproot their lives once more, and so soon, but I can't risk Cerberus using them to get at me. It pained me to see how much worry it caused when I tried to explain; a good hour alone was spent reassuring Ori that it was just a precaution.

No news on Shepard. I wonder what he's going through, and that makes my desire to see him even stronger. Perhaps some retail therapy will take my mind off it. I'm in need of a new outfit, and a gun.

Avalon hasn't changed much. Typical of the sort of establishment, the music's far too loud, the drinks are over-priced and everyone's already too drunk to care. The clientele is the usual collection of off-duty Alliance soldiers mixing with humans from all walks of life. Noticing the women chase after men, just because they're in a uniform, makes me a little sick. It's that or the constant reverberations from the bass that find you even away from the dance-floor. The open-plan layout was not the best of ideas.

On the plus-side, it's easy to keep an eye on things. Though I am struggling to appear aloof while scanning the crowd for 'threats'. So far, I've had to deflect two awful pick-up lines and one yelled description that, presumably, was meant to serve as a compliment.

Soon enough, Jamie wanders in, bright-eyed despite what must have been a long, mundane shift at Alliance HQ. I get the impression that I'm the highlight of his day, if not his week. Casually, I face away and begin sipping from my drink, playfully pushing the straw back and forth between my lips. It's about as subtle as a krogan poet, but it works. Jamie finds me soon enough; he remembers the spot.

"Don't you know not to keep a girl waiting? Had to start without you."

He's already flustered. "I got here as soon as I could."

"Aww, you didn't keep the uniform on for me?" I say, running a hand down from his shoulder to his chest. He laughs nervously in response. Although he expressed an interest earlier, I suspect part of that was bravado in front of colleagues. I'm probably coming on a bit too strong, and should slow down.

"Did...did you want another drink?"

"No, allow me. I'm the one asking the favour, after all. You, wait here and save our seats, OK?"

When I return, we discuss a few Alliance matters of interest, generalities more than specifics. Mostly, I'm listening, letting him lead the conversation in order to give him a sense of control. The soft approach is so draining but it's all I have right now. Eventually, he invites me to discuss my own matters.

"It's not the usual request, though." My eyes are conveying a sense of gravity. "I'm not after information. I have a message that needs sending."

That's not entirely true, of course. I may find it necessary from a personal perspective, but not when it puts people like Jamie in a dangerous situation. If he refuses, I wholly understand.

"I want to help." He sounds confident, that's good.

"The message is for a prisoner being held on Earth. I'm aware that part's not out of the ordinary but this person is high-profile. Very high-profile." His eyes break from mine, I can sense him chewing over the implications.

"Is it who I think it is?"

"It may well be. Can I trust you?"

"Yes, but we should go back to mine and discuss this."

Maybe he is eager after all. I was prepared for this, and I'm no stranger to the practice, but I'm starting to question my commitment. To what lengths am I prepared to go?

Smiling, I reply, "Sure. Good idea."

The walk back was an awkward one. Jamie was clearly quite nervous, and I was too busy trying to make sure we weren't followed. Looks like I'll have to be instigating things tonight; I can handle that.

"It's a nice place." The interest is feigned, the comment is not. The apartment is 'nice'. A fusion of uninspired design and perfunctory decoration. All right-angles and gunmetal grey; perfect for your average Alliance male. God, I miss Illium.

"You like it?"

I nod, what else can I say about it? "It's cosy."

He takes my jacket, one of today's purchases, leather for the bounty hunter, and hangs it near the door. I start searching the room, under the guise of general curiosity. The main area immediately inside the front is a simple lounge and kitchen combination, and I can see a door to the bedroom at the back. Not sure what I was expecting, but it all looks safe. I'm caught spying the cabinet of drinks, perhaps the most predictable of the bachelor furnishings.

"Would you like a drink?" His eyes are wide, he's troubled. I accept the offer, I think we're both going to need one.

"I have everything planned out so there's only a minute chance this can even be traced back to you." My voice is warm, reassuring, "I wouldn't ask otherwise."

He's silent until he passes me my drink and takes a swig of his, "It's Shepard, isn't it?"

"Yeah." His back's turned now, as he places his glass down on the counter next to him. I watch his chest swell and deflate with a heavy sigh. I can't do it. "Look, forget I asked. It's wrong of me, and it's a stupid risk. I apologise if I-"

"No," his voice is low, he's pulling something from his pocket, "I'm sorry."

It's his remote key. The front door slides open, and three men in Alliance uniforms march in, their guns trained on me.

"You stupid son of a bitch." My words are calm, aimed more at myself than Jamie. I should've known something like this might happen. He was uneasy because of the set-up, not the nature of my advances. Trust me to get caught off-guard by someone so innocent. I doubt he's even aware that my gun's concealed in the jacket I so foolishly allowed him to hang up. Makes no difference now.

"Put your hands above your head," comes the bark from one of the soldiers.

I take a moment to finish my drink; anything to steady my nerves. Jamie can't even look at me, but I need to check something. "What did they tell you?"

"You're not who you say you are."

"Who did they say I was?"

Though the soldiers are getting impatient, I get the sense they're not going to shoot me at this particular juncture. I ignore another request to raise my hands.

"Cerberus." I can hear the resentment in his voice. "You used me. I knew it was too good to be true!"

No use trying to placate him, I turn to the armed men, "Which of you is the superior officer?" Their slight hesitation confirms my suspicion. It's too late now anyway. I've got to make the best of the situation. "I'll go quietly, alright? On one condition: you let him go."

It takes a few seconds to sink in. Jamie's spun to face me, puzzled. "I've done nothing wrong."

Poor soul has no idea. Let's hope my warning gets through. "Leave now, Jamie. These men are-"

Before I can even finish, a bullet strikes him in the head, dropping him instantly. Damn it! I had hoped it wouldn't come to this. My eyes are staring daggers, engaging all three men without blinking. The killer holsters his sidearm.

"Come, Miss Lawson. The Illusive Man would like to speak with you."

Just as I thought. I must confess, part of me is interested in what he has to say.

"At least let me grab my jacket."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

I'd known Cerberus were on Arvuna. I just never planned on giving them long enough to find me. It's safe to assume that all my former contacts are under some form of surveillance, regardless of their affiliation.

I took the short shuttle ride as a chance to try and clear my head. Today had been a busy one, and it wasn't over yet. I knew where we were going; 'Yvonne Stryker' had made the occasional stop here before heading into Asa. Now, the runaway daughter was being dragged home. That's a strange thought. I blame the alcohol and an empty stomach.

It didn't take them long to find the gun. The visit to Avalon had already validated my black-market dealer's promise: undetectable by all scanners. And it fooled the Cerberus' base's too. Shame there's no solution for the lo-tech, eyes-on approach. I was relieved of my omni-tool as well. Clearly, they appreciate how dangerous I can be, and what to anticipate should I choose to leave. At least I'm not restrained at all; I'm owed some respect, I gather.

The base's soldiers attempt to escort me along, but I shake them off and walk ahead, taking the lead. I know we're headed straight for the QEC. Wouldn't want to keep The Illusive Man waiting now, would we? I bet he's been worried sick. Taking the initiative didn't faze anyone though. I'm unsure whether this is over-confidence in the security or an understanding of my former-status and an acknowledgement of compliance.

The trip seems to take an eternity. And there's something unsettling about the foot-steps of the men behind me, as they echo loudly across the barren corridors. The synchronised nature of their march is both eerie and unnecessary; a bit too military for my liking. I wish I could attribute the feeling in the pit of my stomach to the alcohol.

One of the men ushers me into the comms room alone, and the thick, metal door seals shut. I expect to be kept waiting, made to feel uncomfortable, so I assume the most natural, relaxed posture I can. It's a reflex, drilled into me during childhood. _"One must know how to carry themselves,"_ my tutor would intone. Perhaps it's why a little contempt creeps into my body language every time I adopt it. Back straight, shoulders level, chin up, left foot forward, right hand on hip: I'm listening, make this worthwhile.

The scan completes, and his image appears. He's already smoking, acting as cool as I am. Maybe he'd been waiting.

"Miranda, I'm glad we could talk." His voice is distorted by the communications device, flat yet harsh, but I don't detect a shred of anger. Then again, he was always good at masking it.

"I would've called, but I lost your number. We couldn't do this face-to-face?"

He ignores the vitriol with casual aplomb, taking a leisurely pull on his cigarette. "I wanted to take the opportunity to thank you for all you've done for Cerberus. Your contributions haven't gone unnoticed. I know this probably doesn't warrant saying; I just wanted you to hear it straight from me. You were a most valuable member of our organisation over two decades of loyal service. From the precocious teen so full of potential to the woman you are today." I'm waiting for it. This much flattery has to be leading somewhere. "Bearing all this in mind, it would be remiss of me not to ask if you'll consider joining us once more. We've made great progress, Miranda, and I know you'd love to see it."

He's aware this appeals to a part of me, an old part I've tried burying. My eyes can't resist lighting up, but I'm confident that isn't transmitting.

"I already gave you my answer."

I remember it vividly. How could I not? He'd ordered me to prevent Shepard destroying the Collectors' base. I'd insinuated that he'd replace me if I refused. Memories of my father had bubbled up in that heated remark. Had I let personal feelings interfere? No, banish the thought. In both heart and head, I knew it was the right thing to do. If he'd been there, seen the horrors inflicted, he would've understood. The rest of the Normandy's crew did.

"He can't help, Miranda." Things turned hostile rather quickly. The Illusive Man's short on patience; this isn't like him. He takes a long, purposeful drag on his cigarette, probably hoping to emphasise the cutting insight. It shouldn't irritate me as much as it does.

"This isn't about him or anyone else. I made my decision, I'll live with it." My arms are crossed, my voice lowered. "I'll go my way and you, yours. No one else needs to get hurt."

A compromise and a warning. I can't offer fairer than that. He brings his free hand slowly up to his face and rubs his temple. "I can't lie, Miranda: I'm disappointed."

"The feeling's mutual."

"This isn't personal, Miranda. And I meant what I said. It's been a pleasure working with you, truly" a pause, his tone becomes almost apologetic, "but you of all people must understand, I need to contain the situation." With that, his back turns and he's gone.

The door slides open to reveal five soldiers, fully kitted out, guns aimed. Fortunately, I came prepared, my left hand shooting to my pocket and retrieving the spare omni-tool inside; another easy to conceal black-market buy. My gun would've been nice, but it served well enough as a handy decoy along with my original omni-tool. I may have the element of surprise but this won't be easy.

The overload function grants me an opening, disabling their weapons long enough for me to close the distance. Making use of my biotics, I fling one of the men head-first into a wall before jabbing an elbow into the face of another, wresting away his weapon in the process. It's an SMG, an M-25 Hornet to be precise, and my best option given the circumstances. There's a brief struggle as I try to negotiate enough space to open fire. One neck-snap and a few well-aimed bursts are enough to ensure no one's getting up.

In the silence that follows, I recognise the fierce pounding of my heartbeat, reminding me just how alive I am at this very instant. It's been a while since I've seen any action, and the adrenaline rush is a little overwhelming. During this brief respite, I grab an electric baton and a rifle from the fallen men. An M-96 Mattock, semi-automatic; good piece of kit generally-speaking. Cerberus have been upgrading, but for what end? No time for that; the base's alarms are sounding and I'm in desperate need of an exit. A shuttle is my only chance.

The hangar's a way back but the route's straightforward. No doubt they'll have chokepoints set up; that'll be the tricky part. I round the corner, rifle in hand. As far as weapons go, it wouldn't be my first choice but I can't afford to be fussy; the range will be most useful for this first stretch.

I manage to cover a lot of ground before I encounter any resistance. Chatter alerts me to the small group of soldiers setting up a position round a corner not twenty yards from my destination. Two are down before they realise I'm there. Another surge from my omni-tool stuns the others, and the remainder of the Mattock's clip is enough to finish the job.

My approach is slow, cautious. I'm expecting a second wave that never arrives. Good, I could do with a break. I step gracefully over the bodies, taking clips and grenades where I can find them. My gut tells me there's a bigger force waiting ahead.

A peek through the hangar entrance window suggests my assumption was correct. Even with a limited view, I can spot three men lurking. A mad dash could probably get me to the shuttle but it's not guaranteed. No use taking risks when I have a better plan. Let's just hope the control room isn't too heavily guarded.

I'm not hearing any more activity nearby; everyone left must be set on a final ambush. My pulse has slowed now, only the constant blare of the alarm is keeping me on edge. Knowing this is all because of me, and only me, is extremely unnerving. Suddenly, my thoughts drift to how alone and small I am. The rifle feels leaden, and my hands, numb. How did I even wind up here? No, Miranda, focus, damn it! A deep breath does the job. Time to make my move.

I'm in luck: the control room is almost deserted. One sealed door and one man stand between me and my goal. The omni-tool makes speedy work of bypassing the former, while a swiftly-executed choke-hold pacifies the latter.

The large windows provide an all-encompassing view of the shuttle surroundings below. A quick scan suggests at least twelve men lie in wait; I didn't expect Cerberus to have even that much of a military presence here. Very soon, they won't.

A few seconds is all it takes to gain complete control of the defence turrets. My brain flicks back to the conversation I had with the project personnel upon my first visit here all those years ago, questioning the lack of external doors on the hangar. I was told that due to the base's construction in the side of a cliff, with only a cavern sheltering it from prying eyes, such an inclusion would draw attention. They deemed the turrets, able to cover the entire area from a rear, defensive position, a suitable security measure, and I had concurred.

The sound-proofing in the control room dulls the impact to some extent, but it's not a pretty sight either way. Helpless against the combined barrage of bullets, the men are panicked, searching for the slightest bit of safe ground. They won't get the chance. Two turrets find a target and, seconds later, he's torn to shreds. Another soldier sees this and manages to make it all the way to the precipice, throwing himself over without hesitation. I only continue observing to ensure my exit is absolutely clear. This brings me no pleasure.

He forced me to do this. I warned him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

I'd started to go stir-crazy. For fear of being exposed, I had limited my trips outdoors. It had been nearly two months since the little 'incident' on Arvuna. My escape had been clean, which wasn't easy, considering witnesses must have put me with Jamie the evening of his death, but I had to be wary of some sort of reprisal from all corners. Someone more optimistic than I might wager the Illusive Man took what happened as a sign that I wasn't worth the trouble. Maybe I'm paranoid. After all, he must have understood that I meant every word about staying out of each other's way. I'd upheld that intention. There's a lurking thought that I'm clinging to the idea of being hunted, simply because it's preferable to being ignored or forgotten. Regardless, strict measures were in order: only venture outside when absolutely necessary.

Most of my afternoon was spent staring intently at the secure text-chat channel I had set up in order to speak with Ori on occasion. I don't like to bother her too often; today had been tough is all. Eventually she appears and that rare smile emerges on my face. The conversation follows its usual course, as I inquire about how her week had been. It's mundane stuff but it warms me to hear Ori relay it. Then she asks about my childhood. Deflecting slightly, I tell her about Earth instead. Though I neglect to mention Shepard's current predicament and how it worries me; my problems are mine alone.

Despite being born, and spending my early years on Earth, I can't really claim any attachment to it. Personally, its relevance had become more of a symbolic one. By the time I was old enough to appreciate my surroundings, humanity had taken to the stars and expanded into far-off systems. I wish I could articulate to Ori what it felt like to discover your horizons had broadened a thousand-fold in such a short space of time. I think she understood what it had meant to me anyway. History on the subject carries that sense of awe but it's no substitute for the personal experience. Everyone alive then would share the sentiment.

Earth no longer held my attention. How could it? There was so much out there, still is, and humanity could be so much more. Soon enough my story moved onto where this desire had led me, and I brought the tale to an abrupt halt. I don't have any regrets, I just...Ori doesn't need to hear that. And I won't lie to her.

I could feel my heart grow heavy once again. The goodbyes had happened as suddenly as my story had ended, and it left me empty, alone with my thoughts. At least Ori is safe and happy.

* * *

There it was, straight from the Alliance News Network:

_Batarian refugees in Exodus cluster include government figures. Refugees: "Attackers devastated our planets. Not Alliance. Not Council."_

It was only a matter of time. The Reapers are here and, as far as I know, Shepard's stuck on Earth. Goddamn Alliance, this is their fault. Those bastards can't have screwed up again. I won't have it.

I'm pacing. What can I do? I'm cut-off from nearly everything and I feel so helpless. My heart's in my throat, and my fists are clenched.

Don't worry, Miranda. He'll be alright. There'll be a big 'Told you so' and then they'll get their act together. Commander Shepard will not die in an Alliance prison. He has powerful friends in the military; some of them must appreciate what is necessary.

I'd never reveal it but, back on the Normandy, I'd recorded Shepard's exchanges with Admiral Hackett. The man struck me as a reasonable leader. A pragmatic head atop shoulders able to take the weight of responsibility, backed by years of experience and the scars to show. Pity he so clearly had his hands tied. Let's hope that part's changed.

* * *

Now I'm worried. I had suspected the Reaper invasion was interfering with my surveillance of Oriana, but the diagnostics suggest something different. Nothing at all is responding, yet I can establish connections to other networks on the planet. I'd been following news reports and not one had mentioned the Reapers being anywhere near the system. That's only faintly reassuring. What else could it be?

Within half an hour I'm out the door and on my way. I need answers. Action has become absolutely necessary.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

There it is: the Normandy, sporting the Alliance blue and white. It does look rather fetching despite my opinion of the organisation. Or, perhaps, what its presence denotes has me in a happier mood than usual.

A wave of relief had rushed over me when I saw reports of Shepard's escape from the Sol system aboard the Normandy. Some were accusing him of running from a fight; how little they knew. Not long after, I'd emailed to arrange a meeting, my fingers almost trembling as I fought back a rush of emotions. What was wrong with me? Thankfully, I'd managed to keep it professional, if not just for my sake; never knew who might be checking his messages.

Watching the ships passing by outside takes me back to my stay on Illium, months ago; though you could tell everything was moving with a greater sense of urgency now. The Reapers were one huge wake-up call for the galaxy, and, even here, the heart of Citadel space, had felt its pulse quicken. I wondered how the Presidium 'elite' had been reacting and decided I'd try and stop by, regardless of whether or not business took me there.

Finally, the door opens and Shepard walks in. He looks worse than the last time we spoke; his face has taken on a distinct pallor yet his eyes peer out from shadows. That imposing frame still stands tall though, and he always did clean up nicely.

I can't contain myself and call out, "Shepard!" He spots me and starts making his way over. Act natural. "Shepard, it's so good to finally see you." It had been a long while since my dulcet tones were genuine.

"You too, Miranda." I hadn't heard a friendly voice say my name in so long either. To distract from appearing too eager, I start walking. He follows step.

"I couldn't get anywhere near you when the Alliance had you locked up." Bastards.

"Relieved of duty. It was complicated."

"I'm sure it was. I'm surprised they didn't court-martial you. The Alliance isn't known for its flexibility."

Bitterly, he says, "Doesn't matter now." He's broken away with his back to me. There's that dark cloud looming over him still.

"Shepard, about Earth..."

He says enough to convey how horrifying it must have been.

"They should've listened to you a long time ago." Poor choice of words; it's not about that anymore. Comforting was never my strong suit. I offer all I can. "I'm sorry, Shepard."

I have his gaze once again, he asks about me. I keep it brief. After what he's just told me, it's not worth getting into.

"What's the Alliance's next move?"

"We have a plan. It's a long shot."

"Not surprising."

I'm hoping that came off sounding positive. It's all I can say without being too critical. They'd squandered all the time they had to prepare; they'd better bloody well have something up their sleeves.

I recall a time when we had a plan. It's odd to think of our suicidal venture as happier times, but I can't find a better way to describe them. We got the mission done, and life had changed dramatically. Time apart had allowed some reflection. I was finally prepared to admit to myself that I really did miss him, and I had to know if he felt the same.

Choosing the safest phrasing I can, I ask, "Shepard...am I still part of your plan?" I can't look him in the eye, choosing to stare at the floor instead. I should've guessed the answer already. "It's been so long, I wasn't sure where we stood."

Although it's likely only a second or two, the pause is excruciating. All of a sudden, his hands are enveloping mine. Forgetful through absence, the rough texture of his skin comes as a shock, but the warmth is soothing.

"Miranda, things are never going to be easy for us, but I'll always want you in my life."

I couldn't have wished for a better answer. I'm about ready to burst.

Acting coy always made for a good mask. "No second thoughts? This is your chance to back out." The smile reveals all though.

"None." His expression mirrors mine as our eyes meet fully for the first time in what has felt like an eternity. In that moment, everything seems OK. He deserves some honesty from me, too, even if it leaves me exposed.

A peck on the cheek is about the only display of affection I can give. "It was hard to be away from you. Surprised myself how...attached I got. I'm not good at attached."

"Just stay close from now on, all right?"

The thought brings a frustrated sigh. "I wish I could. I really do...but there's something I need to deal with." Surely he sympathises. Any more than the restrained kiss would've made this self-imposed separation even harder, for both of us. It's not time to come home yet.

"What is it?"

I proceed to tell him about the situation with Oriana. He wants to help; of course, he does. But he's got far more important concerns. I can't distract him from that. Besides, this is my area of expertise; I should be able to handle it.

"If I need a door or two kicked down, I know just who to call. But for now, I'll be fine." That sounded harsh. Maybe a little too harsh, but I can't have him jeopardising my search for Oriana. Yes, he's more than highly effective muscle, it's just that he'll draw too much attention unfortunately. This requires finesse.

He understands. I knew he would. His next question would give me cause to suspect he's some form of psychic, if I didn't think that were nonsense.

"Have you had any run-ins with the Illusive Man?"

He has no idea. "Just once. He said it had been a pleasure to work with me. But he needed to contain the situation."

"'Contain the situation?' Sounds final."

In a dry tone I remark, "It nearly was. He doesn't take rejection well." My continued existence and distant gaze should tell the rest.

Shepard echoes the sentiment, hinting that there's more he's not saying either. Leaving it there, he changes the subject, seeing if I'd tried to contact him when he was on Earth. Since we're getting it out in the open, I confess that I had thought of breaking in to visit. For appearances, I make light of it, but our safety was my biggest concern.

After a little more chatter, it's time to go our separate ways.

"Be careful," he says, knowing it's less a suggestion than a sign I'm in his thoughts.

As I pass him, I can't resist maintaining our playful attitude. "No promises." A two word phrase that sounds terse yet carries a significance only we comprehend. Serving as a blithe veneer over my reluctance to make a promise I can't guarantee to keep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

"Lie to me again and I'll make you very sorry."

My left hand held the salarian's neck firmly against the container wall while the Carnifex in my right hand kept the other Eclipse gang members at bay. I'd picked this particular individual because he was the most obvious weak point as well as the best bet for the information I wanted. On top of the fact that I have no sympathy for a salarian who would waste his relatively short years and natural talents on a band of mercenaries.

"Please," he pleads, putting his hands up over his head rather than try to force my grip from his throat, "I'm telling the truth. She's in custody."

Just brilliant! Another person I wanted to speak to was locked up. I guess seeing Shepard must have lifted my spirits a little because I can see the funny side to that.

"If Sederis is 'unavailable', who is in charge?" I tilt back my head and ask loudly enough to be heard by all those present in the cargo bay.

The salarian's unusually low but meek voice pipes up, "Th-That would be me."

"Oh," I release him and switch the gun to my left hand before offering my right to him. "Pleased to make your acquaintance. I have something to discuss with you..."

"Sayn." He shakes my hand as he eyes me nervously, unsure if this was all a joke. Good, I want to keep him on the back foot.

"I should've known," I lie. "You seem like the smartest one here."

"I'm not sure if I feel inclined to assist you," he says, trying to sound brave, possibly even trying to call my bluff. My Carnifex finds its barrel facing the gap between his eyes. "Of course, I'd be happy to hear you out."

The salarian's audacity causes a smile to creep onto one side of my mouth.

Without revealing too much, I inquire about kidnapping contracts that Eclipse had been given. I'd had the notion that my father might have been foolish enough to once again hire the same group to abduct Oriana. If true, it would save me a lot of trouble. I'd already discounted the Blood Pack since only an idiot would hire them for this sort of job, and I couldn't see my father trusting the Blue Suns, for a multitude of reasons. Right now, it's wisest to prioritise which leads to chase; limit the amount of trees I go shaking. Never know what might fall out.

Disappointingly, it's beginning to look like I won't be that lucky, even though my outfit fooled the group into thinking I'm still with Cerberus and a reminder of the fates of Jaroth as well as Captains Enyala and Wasea convinced Sayn to divulge all the relevant information. On the bright side, had I encountered Sederis, the exchange might not have gone so pleasantly. With a final warning to the mercs, I make my exit.

Among the hustle and bustle of the main docking area, refugees from all corners of the galaxy are gathered. The Reaper invasion has already destroyed so many people's homes. If only we could've done more. Frankly, the irony of people finding refuge on what is, effectively, a giant Reaper trap makes me a little uneasy. A shiver still runs down my spine every time I see a Keeper.

Once again I pass the crude memorial situated at one end of dock which had given me pause for thought earlier. Keeping few friends had made life easier but the sorrow here was overwhelmingly palpable. Seated not far from there, I spy a batarian chatting openly with a human. A strange sight, especially on the Citadel, but also a hopeful one. With C-Sec stretched so thin, I expected to see more trouble. Even though strict security measures are in place, there are numerous members of both Blue Suns and Eclipse here, and if I could procure a gun, so could they. Additionally, the crowds make for easy cover and it wouldn't take much effort to ignite the tensions between races. It's a cynical observation but at least it means I'm thinking lucidly and haven't gone soft in my hiatus from action.

In the interest of safety, I find a quiet corner and eject the thermal clip from the gun. My duct rat, Jimbo, had apologised for only having one with the capacity for a couple of shots; likely scavenged from the remains of a firefight. Though I said nothing, in all honesty, it probably only allowed for one shot. It didn't matter since the gun was threatening enough and I was adept at carrying off cool menace.

With the clip discarded in a pile of trash, I drop the weapon back into a nearby duct. Calling in this favour shouldn't require firepower.

* * *

She's where I expected, occupying a booth in one of Shalta's finest watering holes, Serenity. A lavishly decorated, multi-level bar where most of the ward's executives head in order to socialise and unwind after hours. Or during hours, given the lifestyle.

The pair of uniformed turians standing guard by the door remain still, only their beady eyes follow me as I enter. Presumably, safe in the knowledge that the rest of the establishment's privately-employed security force, all turians, are stationed high out of view or behind one-way glass and ready to move in a heartbeat. Thankfully, my forged ID offers no provocation as I pass the scanner without breaking step.

Inside is a calming, relaxed atmosphere, with enough clientele present to suggest popularity minus the overcrowding. The lighting and music are at just the right levels for the time of day, tasteful too. Everything about the place has been fine-tuned to cater to professionals, both young and old, right down to the name. A real triumph in sociological study, you might say. In another life, I'd probably enjoy myself here. I'll just have to settle for appreciating it.

The asari behind the bar looks up, expectedly, but I'm heading past, straight for my target. When I approach, she's too lost in her drink to notice.

"Erin, glad to see you! It's been a while."

She barely registers me, but her clipped tone betrays any sense of inebriation, "Drop the act. I know you're not Cerberus anymore."

"Good," I shrug, "saves me some time. I need your help."

She motions lightly towards the booth with drink in-hand, liquid sloshing about, "Sit."

I oblige and watch her patiently, not wishing to interrupt when she obviously has something to say. Sat opposite, the lines on her face become clearer, and 'faded' seems the most appropriate word to describe her. As long as I'd known her, she had always taken care to look her best, albeit through heavy application of cosmetics masking her true age, and her wealth had kept her in elegant fashion, as it did presently. Only, this time, neglect had crept in and removed any hint of vitality.

"They said to inform them if you showed up."

"_They_ have trouble letting go."

She laughs through her nose, resentment in her voice, "You're not wrong there." Another swig from the glass. "What happened?"

"A disagreement on ethics," I say, flatly.

"Ha!" She shakes her head. "No, really, you finally outlived your usefulness, huh?" I maintain a blank stare. Her eyes widen and a malicious smile surfaces. "You're serious? Let me guess, your latest project to grow a conscience was a success? That is what you do, right? Experiments?"

She stares at me accusingly. This is beginning to look like a mistake. Intimidating a group of mercenaries with a near-empty weapon was preferable to this. "Did you want another drink?"

"That's right. Make sure I'm being cared for."

I snap, as if trying to maintain a cool demeanour while speaking to a misbehaving child, "Don't try and act innocent. You agreed to aid..." I pause, having nearly said 'us'. "You agreed to aid Cerberus. And Cerberus were there for you. It was a mutually beneficial deal."

"A deal with the devil is what it was! _Is_!" Her anger erupts disproportionately. "You said it was a legitimate front but I still get my hands plenty dirty."

Over my shoulder, I can glimpse a turian up on a balcony, communicating on his earpiece. Easy bet what it's about.

"Erin, please, I'm not your enemy. I left Cerberus, remember?"

"And how's that working out for you?" A stone face becomes my response once again. "Because you can never leave. We know where the bodies are buried. Literally, in your case, I imagine."

"I never did wetwork." That vague denial is all I have. "Cerberus was never about that."

"If you say so." She raises her glass, "Ignorance is bliss."

"Erin, you're not responsible for the dirty work that may or may not have occurred."

"That's cute. Is that what you told yourself, holed up in your lab, 'elevating humanity' through your science? Should've taken a minute to consider exactly where that limitless funding came from, and the means used."

I watch as she finishes off her drink and signals for another that arrives promptly. Simultaneously, the empty glass is whisked away, as I suspect many have already today, giving me no means to gauge just how intoxicated she's become. All I know is, this is far more than a mixture of guilt and alcohol; she'd shouldered that for years. Something has gotten to her.

"Erin...," I plead.

"Don't worry, I won't give you up. I have enough blood on my hands already."

"That's not why I'm here." I say, sidestepping the implication. "I need to find my father."

"Seen the world coming to an end and had a sudden change of heart, have we?"

"Do you know where he is?"

She stares at the table, purposefully. "Bekenstein, maybe."

Not the answer I was looking for, implying she actually has no idea. I'd already had someone check there.

"Maybe," I concur politely. "Know any other possibilities?"

"He could be on the Citadel."

My voice is harsh, agitated. "He's not on the Citadel."

"Try Earth." Her bottom lip jutting out, quivering, she fixes me with a look both filled with anger and vulnerability. It catches me completely off-guard as the realisation hits. The overtones were not of guilt or alcohol but grief. Any pretence of impassiveness has vanished from my face as I struggle to find the words.

"Oh, no, Erin, I...I had no idea. If I-"

"Save it," she sniffs, her eyes now watering up. "It's too late now."

"If I'd known, I would've said something." I'm not lying. I understand how important family is, it's why I'm here after all. "Are you...I've heard reports there are pockets of survivors, fighting back. I can see if they're still-"

"No," she whispers, shaking her head mournfully, "but thank you."

Reaching across the table, I place my hand on top of hers, meeting each other's gaze sincerely now. "You have my deepest sympathies, Erin. I truly am sorry."

A few moments of silence follow, before she asks, "Is this about Oriana?" All traces of hostility gone from her voice.

I nod solemnly. "She's all I have left."

A long, shuddering sigh escapes Erin's chest. I'm listening patiently, unblinking.

Finally, she says, "I haven't seen him round these parts for months. Last I heard was a rumour he'd gone to Sanctum."

* * *

**Author's note: Progress may be a little slower from now on but only because I'm still playing around with some of the plot elements before committing them to finished chapters. I just want to make sure the story's pretty satisfying overall.**

**Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far and I'll always welcome feedback and constructive criticism!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

I had set down a fair distance from my destination, the former Blue Suns base that Shepard and our team had 'acquired' for Cerberus all those months ago. If my father's working for them, and they're on Sanctum, this seems the most likely place. Although, I'd rather discover no connection between the two, even if it gets me no closer to Oriana. So far, the hours spent, sitting and surveying the area had confirmed only one thing: this isolation must be getting to me.

A stakeout is a very dull and tiring task, especially with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. And so my head filled with the past few days' events, chewing over them. The fact that I hadn't had a proper conversation - a real sit-down discussion about anything - in far too long, led me to analyse the nature of all my recent interactions.

The talk with Erin still played on my mind. She'd been drowning her sorrows, happy to be left alone and I'd fully expected her to tell me to go jump in a lake. Sure enough, though, she'd assisted me like it were the old Cerberus days. I couldn't shake the feeling that she held me responsible for where life had led her. As well she might. Being one of my father's oldest business associates made her a valuable asset, professionally and personally. One too good to resist. Though I'd only ever tasked her with simple corporate surveillance, it wouldn't be beyond Cerberus to have asked for more. Was she capable of betraying me now? Niket turned on me because he never gave me a chance to explain the situation. And the money was too good.

Erin couldn't be bought, but also she'd been more understanding, perhaps a consequence of knowing my father, and the pertinent bits of Lawson 'family' history, better than most. The other possibility being that my relationship with Oriana brought out a sympathetic side. Of course, neither of those explanations sat well with me. Betrayal was never easy to stomach, and sympathy was an almost unfamiliar notion. I considered myself pretty experienced at reading people and she'd sounded genuine. That would have to suffice.

Besides, if it is a trap, the only way to be sure is to take the bait. Let's just hope the layout hasn't changed significantly...or the YMIR mechs replaced.

I set the binoculars down to one side and grab my equipment and sidearms, before exiting the ship. My steps are quick yet graceful, on a direct course to the nearest outcrop of rocks that offer a decent amount of cover. No one has come or gone the whole time I've been here. The landing pad was untouched, and those massive metal doors, the sole entry point, remained firmly shut. Better safe than sorry though.

Having crept close enough, I activate my omni-tool. A lot of credits and effort had gone into upgrading it, and I was going to take full advantage. Crouched down, I activate the environmental scanner.

That's strange. The cameras mounted on both sides of the doors, ones I'd spotted at a distance, were emitting no energy signatures. They're off.

I could have sworn they weren't here when the Blue Suns occupied the place, and took it as a sign that Cerberus had definitely moved in. These excursions are eating through my resources at an alarming rate, I hope I'm not wasting my time. On the other hand, this could be an open invitation to trouble...

Safe in the knowledge that no one could possibly be witnessing my approach, I march forward, a mixture of eagerness and impatience driving me. If there's going to be a fight, let's get started already. My hand's at my pistol holster; my fingers loose, itching.

Much to my surprise, the security system yields in a matter of seconds, the doors shooting open even quicker, barely giving me reason to pause as I mount the steps.

I dash into the opening, using the omni-tool to close the door behind me, as I slide into shelter behind a nearby crate and draw my pistol. Pushing my shoulder against the side of the box, I get a sense of its substantial weight. My next immediate thought turns to the complete darkness of my surroundings. Great, I didn't spring for night-vision...

I stand and activate the omni-tool's torch, looking around as best I can with the meagre illumination it provides. Countless crates litter the balcony entrance, presumably as full as the one I'd leant against, moments ago. Below, the lobby is barely visible, but I can make out the shape of more crates stacked up at the foot of the ramps.

With a bit of effort, I manage to pry open one of the smaller containers, and instantly recognise the contents: Cerberus lab equipment. That's promising...in a way.

Slowly and steadily, I head off to the door on the right, for no other reason than as a logical starting point. The removal appears half-complete, so I'm hoping there's a terminal - or something, anything - with useful information. Even if it takes a long, methodical search, I'm not leaving empty-handed.

The darkness hinders progress and, despite being reasonably sure I'm alone, certain shadows are putting me on edge. My Shuriken, the SMG being a better choice for close-quarters, follows the torch's beam unwaveringly. Odd sounds echo here and there, but common sense attributes it to the climate's winds picking up force outside, or some kind of shifting or settling from the assorted apparatus and appliances. At least, that's what I'm telling myself. I've fought through a dead Reaper, with packs of grotesque husks bearing down on me, and this leaves me nervous? On a lot of occasions, I favour being alone. This definitely isn't one of them.

The living quarters appear no different: neatly-spaced rows of function-over-form bunk beds. I'd been accustomed to Cerberus' drab accommodation to suit all, regardless of status. My only concern is the slightly acidic odour that lingers here, stinging my nostrils almost imperceptibly. A cursory glance around doesn't provide any answers or reason for alarm so I move on.

Eventually, my search leads me through what used to be the mess hall and into a section converted from open caverns, where I find a breaker panel and reactivate the power. The burst of light is so strong it necessitates lifting an arm to shield my eyes until they adjust. Some distance further in, machines hum to life. Music to my ears.

A half-amused laugh breaks my silence. Trust it to be as simple as them clearing the place from front to back. There I was, painstakingly probing into every corner, willing to accept even a PDA as valuable intel, when the rear of the facility is still sporting a full workstation setup. Tucked away at the back of the lab, formerly a warehouse, was exactly what I needed. In retrospect, the labyrinthine nature of this place makes me glad I didn't have to fight through here tooth and nail.

Gaining access to the terminal is child's play, but decrypting and making sense of the research could take a while. Bits and pieces start to filter through onto the screen of my omni-tool, my fingers alive as I inspect whatever looks noteworthy.

After a few minutes, I've seen enough to give me cause for concern. Records show Reaper tech had been here. I lift my head to assess where it might be but find no obvious sites. Then a related log confirms what I had deduced: there is another lab on Sanctum. Cerberus had been shifting the work over to a different location; one outside the relatively hospitable equatorial region by the looks of it. No one, barring me, had found this base though...I think. Maybe they'd been wise enough to keep some degree of separation between dangerous, corrupting technology and the researchers.

I do a little more digging and discover a more upsetting answer: nearly all the research staff on this project had found their contracts 'terminated'. Simultaneously. I'd known Erin was right: _you can never leave_. Especially not with what these people had seen. The repulsive smell of the living quarters must have been the clean-up...

Damn it! My right fist clenches, shaking, in search of something into which I can channel my rage. I manage to resist, as sorrow takes over. These were scientists, the brains behind some of Cerberus' greatest work. I was acquainted with a few of them, could recall their faces. Some had been strong candidates for Lazarus. No, most of them had! Such a criminal, inexcusable waste of talent.

Then it clicks.

All of the names shared the same background. Their expertise had been in cybernetics, like those employed in resurrecting Shepard. Combining Reaper tech and implantation was never good news.

I begin copying all the available data, sensing this will require an extensive analysis, one I'm not keen to undertake in this grave, when a mocking voice calls for my attention.

"He had a feeling you'd show up here sooner or later. Just couldn't stay away, could we?"

I turn, a look of disgust still present on my face. "Who's _he_?"

Exuding the attitude of a predator that had ensnared its prey, the man laughs. "I think you've seen enough. You'll get no answers from me, Miss Lawson. On this path you shall find only a dead end."

"Save me the poetry. I've killed greater men than you." My voice is a low growl. Not one I use often.

"You're on the list, my dear, " he smirks. "That's an awful lot of killing. At every turn you will find us, watching, waiting...hunting. Peace will be but an intangible concept. You won't find solace anywhere, not even the Citadel offers haven now."

He's hamming it up an awful lot for one guy. This can't be right. The door's not shut behind him. Why hasn't he made a move? I know my gun's not drawn but I'm no slouch.

"Did you come here to warn me or talk me to death? You won't find me grateful either way."

He says nothing...does nothing. I follow his eyes for a sign, they're always the giveaway. My observation is soon rewarded as I catch the tiniest glance to his left. Ah, that old ploy.

The whole time he'd been talking, cloaked assassins were stealing up the flanks. No more talk. Time to act.

My trusty omni-tool comes to the rescue once again, with access to the power enabling me to cut the lights. I hear the frustrated groan from the mouthy one. That evens the visibility, at least.

Seconds later, the air is filled with the high-pitched hum of night-vision goggles being activated. I count a distressing amount of them, my heartbeat announcing its presence too. Now to tip the balance...

I bring the weaponlight up in one hand, snapping it onto my SMG in the other as I step carefully towards the group leader.

"Too scared to talk now, huh?" I taunt.

"There!" Comes the man's reply.

I'm too quick though. That one syllable gave him away. He was closer than I guessed, a fact I discover as a raise my gun, flicking the weaponlight on in tandem. The strobe illuminates his face long enough for me to see it register terror...and the bullets.

From my right, a blade jabs through the air; a faint whistle the only clue to its movement. Evading the sword's path, I vault cleanly over the fallen body, and twist enough to direct the light at my assailant. They're blinded, but a full spray from my SMG doesn't finish the job.

I'm on my feet with a tense desperation, strobe and gunfire piercing the darkness, serving as my only cover while I back hastily towards where my mind had recorded the exit. Past encounters had borne out the value of hit-and-run tactics. In this instance, however, both the 'hit' and 'run' parts would be singular.

Finding the door, I turn into a sprint and activate my torch, using the combination of awkward lighting as my guide. I'm like an hysterical beacon, one weak beam in front and another flashing madly. Charging into scenery that blinks into existence intermittently makes for a surreal sensation, like running in a dream. Though I'm not about to test the 'fall and wake up' theory since my legs seem to be carrying me just fine.

Much to my dismay, the absence of footsteps in hot pursuit is no indication as to how triumphant my escape is proving to be. Only when they're quite literally breathing down my neck will I know.

I make swift progress, my memory already having mapped out the quickest passage, but get carried away upon reaching the lobby. Full of elation and adrenalin at nearing those big, secure external doors, I clip the side of a crate, lose my footing and barrel into another, knocking the wind out of me in the process. I curse myself silently and stagger back into my stride, my hand keeping the gun, in a deathly grip. Come on, Miranda, you're almost there!

The ascent up the ramp is a torturous one, the exit flickering in and out of sight in the strobe, and the sounds of the Cerberus assassins becoming increasingly apparent and pressing. I steady myself with the railing before one last mad sprint for the door, omni-tool at the ready. Let's hope a harsh climate is not there to greet me.

I make the door, basked in moonlight and batted by a strong breeze that threatens to toss me back down to certain death. The thick steel slams behind me and I hard-lock the system, trapping my pursuers inside, before collapsing in exhaustion.

That was close. Too close.

* * *

**Author's note: My idiot self uploaded a slightly older draft yesterday. Fixed it now. You might notice the odd tweak here and there but nothing major; I just think it reads a little better now.**

**As usual, keep the feedback and criticism coming in. It's all useful stuff!  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The name was mocking me. Here I was again, at Serenity. I need to speak to Erin.

A search for answers had created more questions. Normally, that sort of thing would excite me, get my brain working in overdrive, but now it only drains me. And I can't stop. Not yet.

The dead man had implied I wouldn't find peace, that I was forever in hostile territory. I'd lived that for the longest time in one way or another, but circumstances around me had given me perspective. Oriana was missing, somewhere in this wide-open galaxy, snatched off the street by people unknown and probably scared for her life. That is, if I'd managed to give her a normal life. My own path had toughened me, a course from which I'd sheltered her, steered her. And that worries me. The galaxy is a harsh place, and Oriana shouldn't be coddled, but how could I have prepared her for any of this?

By contrast, my propensity for conflict had become entrenched. Danger follows me everywhere, materialises in front of my eyes, but I can't afford to shy away. Oriana is my responsibility and there I was, close to being a corpse, sleeping the big sleep in some defunct laboratory in the cold reaches of space. Lost to the few who knew me. If my father has Oriana, which is looking increasingly likely, I'm no use to her dead. And who else but me knew what sort of impact my father's domineering nature would have on her? Would he start making up for lost time? I _have_ to reach her.

First things first, I had to confront Erin. Did she know more than she was letting on?

I march inside, past those vigilant turians once again. Another couple hundred of credits spent, another fake ID granting passage. Nothing's changed here. There's still the same relaxed ambience, that same false sense of security. Tell a lie, one thing's amiss...

She's not here. Either way, that's not good. I approach the resident asari bartender and ask if Erin had been seen at all, but it sounds like she hasn't been in today. She could be lying, protecting a valued client, I suppose, though I have my doubts about that. Is there such a thing as too paranoid?

I turn away and stare out the massive window that spans almost the entire front wall. Time to collect my thoughts and plan the next step...

During my pause, a sharply-dressed man seizes the opportunity and sidles up next to me, as casual as one can be. There is nothing out of the ordinary in his attitude or appearance. Everything about him seems to belong.

"Let me buy you a drink." Maybe it's the exhaustion, or the friendly face, but my facade slips for a second, returning his smile. It is a nice smile, I'll give him that.

"No. No, thank you." I maintain a flat tone, attempting to counteract the friendly gesture that had preceded it.

He laughs warmly, "Come on. You can't hide it, I can't hide it. We're both looking for someone."

There's a sinister undercurrent to his tone but I'm not in the mood to engage with him if at all possible. "Don't flatter yourself."

In the corner of my eye, I can see the conversation has caught the asari's attention but she's pretending not to notice. Patrons getting a little 'over amorous' is common wherever there's alcohol, doesn't matter how upmarket you go. I'm assuming the turian security is already observing in case things get ugly.

Ignoring my response, the man persists, "Hmm, I thought that was your M.O. Waiting in bars, dressed in a way that would drive any man wild, before whisking your victim away to blow his mind."

I turn to study his face. His eyes are narrowed, a smirk sitting below them. He knows what he said, chose every word carefully. Poor Jamie. I still see his face sometimes. That puzzled look just before he was executed. Poor, stupid Jamie.

"Who are you?"

"So you do want to get to know me!" He pretends to think it over for a second. "OK, let's get a booth. Maybe that one?"

How did I guess? He's pointing right to Erin's unoccupied spot. I nod with a distrustful scowl.

I follow him over to the dark corner, surreptitiously checking for other faces as I go. He appears to be alone.

"Can I get you that drink now? All that running around must be thirsty work..."

I leave a deliberate pause then fix him with a roguish raise of the eyebrows. "Tevuran Mist."

He's taken aback, exaggerating the reaction in the process. "You're joking?" I shake my head, the mischievous look morphing into a glower. He signals for attention and orders our drinks, his a simple bourbon, before staring hard into my eyes. "And there was me thinking you'd keep it strictly human-made." He's poking, antagonising.

"You might think you know me, but you don't. You really don't." I stand, hoping the act will disperse with this charade. "And I don't particularly care to waste any more of my time with a stranger."

He gets the message. "Sit. We'll talk." I oblige, leaning back comfortably. He continues, "I'm Alliance Intelligence."

"I wasn't aware they had any."

"That one's a freebie," his words suddenly become sharp, "but you're in no position to get flippant, Miss Lawson. You're a murderer and a terrorist. It's a simple fact."

I think the labels annoy me more than his superior attitude. He even made my name sound like a curse. In trying to avoid unnecessary attention, I'm forced to stew for a moment, as our drinks arrive. The agent across from me relaxes, pleased with the situation. Searching for comfort, I focus on the cool blue of the asari-made cocktail, a clean white spiral of crème cutting right through the body of it. A hint of its sweet scent is enough to trigger an overwhelming olfactory sensation, further eliciting a long, deep breath that soothes my nerves. Just what I needed.

Once the waiter is out of earshot, I lose no time in confronting the accusation, palms held forward. "Go on then, arrest me. That is, if you really are Alliance." It's a gambit, but my instincts tell me it's best to play along. For the time being.

"Oh, I intend to. I'm just here to make sure it all goes peacefully."

"Aren't you considerate." Taking up my glass, I bring the drink to my lips. It's as magnificent as the aroma promised, a subtle fusion of honey, fruit and spice, with a warm glow that lingers in the walls of the neck. It's almost distracting. "You need something."

Without blinking, he says, "I'm after intel."

"Do I look like the Shadow Broker to you?" In a way, I suppose I do. More than he'll ever know anyway.

"What's to say you're not with him?"

"And you were doing so well..." I scold. "If you're an intelligence officer at least make some attempt to appear intelligent."

The muscles in his neck tense. "I'm not messing around here. You help me, and I can help you."

"You expect me to cooperate? You're the one playing games."

"I can do this all day. You want to keep going round in circles, we will."

That's a lie. He's verging on desperate. Which also means my surroundings could soon become a lot less comfortable. Time to kick this into gear, see if I can glean anything.

"Who put you up to it?" I ask. Off the top of my head, I can think of at least five people who could be responsible for this predicament. Erin being the obvious choice.

"Give me some names, I'll see what catches." In response to my flash of incredulity, he shrugs, smiling. "It was worth a shot...We found you ourselves."

"I don't believe that for a second." I punctuate with a casual sip. "You're not that smart."

"Information, the exchange of information, is always a two-way street. In every conceivable way, it is about the give and take. It's simply a matter of perspective. Whatever it is you are after, no matter how slight, reveals something about you, gives you away." He measures me up with a meaningful look. "That is who led me here."

Having my fair share of experience in intelligence work, I comprehend perfectly. It's the very system on which the Shadow Broker thrives. Work all the angles. It's the whole reason I've been playing my cards so close to my chest, even going so far as to push Shepard away - to _continue_ to push him, and everyone I care for, away. In these circles, seeking out assistance can have the same effect as firing a distress flare. I get the impression I had done a fine job of gradually drawing a map.

"Suppose I can help you. I can't do it from a cell."

"You'll have no choice on that."

I can't afford to be detained. Oriana is out there. She needs me.

"You had Shepard locked up for months. What did you learn from him?" The man is silent, tight-lipped. I already knew the answer. "And he had no real investment in Cerberus. So exactly how much do you expect someone like me to give you?"

"As much as it pains me to point this out, you aren't Shepard. You won't find your treatment quite so...pleasant."

"You won't find me so pleasant. I can guarantee that."

"It all comes down to cooperation, Miss Lawson. Loosen those lips to lessen your troubles."

That sounds too rehearsed, lyrical even. If I had any doubts he were genuine, they are gone. "No. No deal. Table's rigged. Anything I say only deepens the hole I'm in."

"We're not Cerberus. We have principles."

That's hit a nerve in me. "Upholding those principles will always rest with the individual, not the organisation. And I don't know you from Adam. I'd say I trust you about as far as I can throw you...only, I could toss you a considerable distance with my biotics."

"Threatening me won't gain you anything."

"I don't make threats." I make promises.

Impatiently, he sighs, "There's two ways this goes down. The easy way and the-"

"-hard way. Save it. Nothing's that black and white." He's eyeing my outfit arrogantly, I press on. "You have your agenda, and I have mine. Something tells me they intersect, possibly complement one another, but they do not overlap. You lock me up and you get nothing. You'll be wasting precious time, time I know you don't even have...on nothing. There are bigger threats you should be dealing with."

"Cerberus need to be stopped."

As much as it upsets me, I'm inclined to agree. I'd sensed a shift when I spoke to the Illusive Man on Arvuna, and recent events suggest that they'd crossed a line. Though, if Oriana's in their custody, I can't just go blowing the whistle. It'd be like trying to track all the insects that scatter once you lift up that rock. Maybe keeping him one step behind will work.

I take time in finishing my drink, making like I'm conceding, considering his proposal. "And perhaps I can help you there. But I walk. That's the condition. I can't get anything with you following like a shadow. You'll spook everyone." He's sat up straight, paying attention. Now to sell it to him. "Word is, they're up to something on Sanctum."

"What's on Sanctum?"

"Rocks, ice. By all accounts, I hear it has an extremely windy climate. I wouldn't recommend it as a holiday destination."

His jaw juts out, agitated. "Though, I do know one spot along the equator that might interest you."

"I'm going to need more than that."

"Pass me your datapad," I command. He hesitates at first, expecting a trap. "Relax. What harm can I do?"

He fetches the device from inside his jacket and slides it over the table, watching me carefully. I punch in the exact coordinates to the base. If my estimations are correct, Cerberus will have sped up their efforts to clear it out, possibly even destroying everything in order to save time. Either way, it's a show of good faith for Mr. Alliance here, without compromising my own search by revealing a great deal. On closer inspection, the data I had taken from there revealed some horrifying truths. Least among them, how sloppy the segregation of information on separate projects had become. With due scrutiny, and those plentiful resources behind it all, it's quite feasible that the Alliance could piece together the functions and locations of the entire Cerberus science division. This networking of all the research also hinted at something big on the horizon. Getting closer to the truth was going to be dangerous, and I can't see myself able to skirt around this storm.

He smiles as I place the datapad back in his hand. Still gripping the device, I layer on the faux sincerity, sounding like an accomplice. "Tell me what you find there. Don't screw this up."

I let go and stand, preparing to leave. He holds up the datapad like a winning ticket. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"If we're to stay in touch, I need a name."

"Call me John." It sounds false. Doesn't matter.

"John," I sound out the name then say blankly, "thanks for the drink."

As I march away, he remains seated, with no objection. That seems to have done the trick. Though it's debatable how much time it buys me. I quicken my exit, happy to get out of here.

Behind the bar, the asari assumes that identical half-peeking stance from before. Cutting a path across the open floor, I get the uneasy impression that more eyes are on me. I speed up even more, hurrying now, but it's no use.

As I reach the door, those two turian guards emerge, blocking my path. Their weapons aren't raised but the steely gaze from both says it all. I recognise the bitterness they hold towards humans, so typical of many turians. They're waiting for me to resist, to put up a fight. Disappointment is all I can offer. In abundance.

From behind me, comes John's smug voice, my back stiffening at the sound. "You didn't really think we'd let you go, did you, Miss Lawson?"

My anger swells. I try and stifle the trembling it starts. This whole place was a goddamn trap.

* * *

I feel humiliated. If I'd had the choice between dying at the hands of Cerberus or being captured by the Alliance, it'd be a tough call. On the bright side, business did take me to the Presidium after all. Up here, it's lighter than the rest of the station. Certainly more picturesque.

Here and there, I catch bits of nervous chatter between groups of people. Exclamations of worry, loud and clear enough that you could eavesdrop and follow the conversation quite easily. All of it the little concerns ordinary people might have, affairs into which the Reapers have intruded. It's minor but I guess that's a start. Plus, it keeps their attention away from the spectacle of me, hands cuffed behind my back, being escorted by a small C-Sec unit.

As far as I can tell, we're headed to the furthest wall, where the C-Sec outpost resides. Then, once processed, I'll be transferred to Holding. I do not relish that prospect.

Down below I spot a cafe and a familiar face working there. An asari matriarch...serving food and drink. Such an incongruous combination has to be more than coincidence. She'd been on Illium all those months ago. Am I being followed? There goes the paranoia again. People move around, find jobs elsewhere. It's probably nothing.

We reach halfway across the upper level walkway when a larger band of C-Sec officers, all of them human, approach from the other direction and meet us.

The superior from the second group, an older man who carries himself like a sergeant, addresses the turian leading the first. There are words exchanged. Something about me being too dangerous, necessitating a larger guard and going directly to Holding on the lower level. The turian doesn't sound pleased, communicating this in a low, barely-audible growl, but the human from the second is definitely the one with authority.

Soon enough, the units switch places and we're on a new course, back towards the elevator. This is...interesting.

We crowd inside, all of them moving into a formation that surrounds me. Once the compartment doors shut, one of the officers behind me starts fiddling with the restraints on my wrists. While doing so, she brings her mouth close to my ear and imparts a message, "She apologises for these circumstances, but is confident that this makes up for it." The lock releases and my hands are suddenly free, a small rectangular shape pushed into my palm in the process. I stay facing forward, the woman's breath still at my neck. "Don't leave the way you came. Others are watching. A ship is waiting in D30."

I decide to take a look at the conspirators. They remain in formation, their faces blank. Shockingly, I don't recognise a single one. These aren't my contacts.

The woman speaks one final time, "And she trusts that you understand how much she has dirtied her hands."

Erin! Of course this was all her doing. And I do understand. Though, it's scary how well she'd adjusted to the role. It reminds me of a certain archaeologist who had become one of the galaxy's most ruthless information brokers - the most notorious of them, in fact. I almost feel as if I had a hand in 'corrupting' them both.

There's no time to dwell on it, as the elevator reaches its destination. I step out, examining the object in my hand: a miniature datapad. Custom-designed by the look of it. Perhaps Erin did have more to share.

* * *

**Author's note: Well, this turned into quite a large chapter. Maybe I got a bit carried away this time...I'll let you guys decide. Threw in a few more easter eggs/references for the astute among you, one of them with a hint of dramatic irony, even.  
**

**Comments, feedback and criticism all very welcome!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

With all that's been happening - with all I was expecting to happen - I needed to see Shepard. To hear his voice.

I'd emailed requesting he contact me via the most secure communications channel available. I didn't exactly have all the time in the world - who did? - but things looked safe for now. I guess the upside to a Reaper invasion is that it does make for one incredibly large distraction. Though I wouldn't put it past Cerberus attempting to trace all pertinent comms. Must keep this conversation quick and to the point to minimise the risk.

I'm not kept waiting too long, as his image materialises in front of me. It's a poor substitute for the real thing, but vidcomm will have to suffice. He looks no better than before; everything is tense, barely holding it together. I can see he's hunched forward, propping himself up. A clear sign of exhaustion or, at the very least, a mind hounded by worry. Do I look that bad? Either way, it's best left unsaid.

"Good to see you're all right, Shepard."

"Miranda, what's going on?" He sounds concerned, worried even.

"Couldn't meet in person. The Citadel is too dangerous right now." Bit of an understatement. "I heard about the attempted coup."

It sounds like I got off the Citadel just in time. If an unprecedented assault on the Presidium by Cerberus forces wasn't troubling enough, they'd also taken advantage of the resulting chaos to do a little 'housecleaning' in the intelligence network. They got two of my own sources; one I'd not even tried to contact since resigning. Not that it clears my conscience at all, but maybe they do have a 'list'. If so, I'd be interested to see it. At the very least, it'd be pretty incriminating.

"Yeah. With Kai Leng's help, Udina nearly seized control."

"Kai Leng? That slippery bastard's still alive?"

"He's alive and right in the middle of all this."

"That complicates things. I'll be on my guard." Now that is worrying. While I acknowledge that certain 'skill sets' have their uses, I'd never seen any gains from Kai Leng's efforts. In one sense, I guess that made him a killer capable of great guile, but it's quite a different prospect when you might be his next target. I'll have to gather what information I can, make sure he doesn't get the drop on me if our paths do cross. "Look, I don't have much time...but I learned what happened to my sister."

"Where is she?"

On Erin's datapad was a note, presumably from one of her sources, that Oriana had been taken in at my father's request. It wasn't put so candidly but I could piece together the events. I had a grasp of everything except where they'd gone.

"I don't know that yet, but my father was definitely responsible." My hatred starting to surface, I state, coldly, "If he's done anything to her, I'll kill him."

Shepard raises his head at those words, eyes full of disapproval, though I'm not sure if it's because of my intention or out of fear for my wellbeing. "Miranda-"

"Shepard, listen. I'm being hunted by Cerberus assassins. A lot of them. I need to stay out of sight."

"What? Why?"

"I heard a rumour, maybe more, that my father is working on something for the Illusive Man." I steal a glance over my shoulder. Something I've found myself doing more and more, lately. "Something big."

The note on the datapad was only scratching the surface. Clearly, Erin had been doing a lot of digging into my father's and Cerberus' activities. The subject of one investigation, 'The Old Man', was a sardonic play on the Illusive Man as well as an old Earth colloquialism for father - husband was another possible interpretation but one easily dismissed as it applied neither to me or Erin. It appears 'The Old Man' had been put in charge of a large project for Cerberus, one to which multiple cells had been contributing. They had gotten their hands on a lot of Reaper technology and intended to make full use of it. Something tells me the Collector Base had instigated all this.

"Why would your father be working with the Illusive Man? Especially now."

My arms cross, and disdain fills my voice. "My father is ruthless about preserving his 'legacy.'"

"And you think the Illusive Man made him an offer?"

"Exactly."

The shake-up began around the time my father had taken an expected leave of absence, and not long before Oriana disappeared. Since no mercenary groups had taken her, Cerberus could be the culprit. With all the pieces falling into place, it was a safe assumption that my father was conducting something for them, and Oriana was part of that deal.

Erin had come to the same conclusion. Too much of his time and attention was being diverted for it to be simple funding. And she was probably in the position to know. Though her closing comment that Cerberus must follow a 'one-in, one-out' policy when it came to the Lawsons was not amusing in the least, and she knew it.

Shepard is the nice guy once again. "Whatever's going on with your father can't be good. We have to figure this out."

"I agree, but...I need to do this myself. It's time I stopped running from him."

As with Cerberus, I'd been happy with a 'live and let live' approach to matters. Now both had gone too far.

"You're sure?"

I'd hate myself if I were hindrance to Shepard's mission in any way. Reports on the Citadel attack were a little unclear on specifics - part of the usual cover-ups, presumably - but it sounded like one of his own team had serious trust issues. Could it be that marine we encountered on Horizon? Had to be Alliance.

Regardless, it was pretty clear that my presence would be too controversial, too distracting. His was a diplomatic mission as well as a military one, and there I was, effectively traipsing through a mess of a situation. Like a girl in muddy boots, threatening to sully the whole thing.

I only offer half the truth. "Yes. I can't think straight until I know Ori is safe."

"Be careful," he warns.

If there were two words I didn't want to hear, couldn't hear, that was them. He's pushing at something, I suppose, after some reassurance that I'll be there no matter the distance. I can tell he's recently suffered the loss of people close to him, nearly as close as I am.

"I can't promise that, Shepard. Could you?"

That may not be the most comforting thing to say, but I won't lie. Not to him. Besides, this goes both ways.

He matches my outlook, "No. I couldn't."

With nothing more that needs saying, I move away, a new sense of urgency in my step. I still had a lot of work ahead.

* * *

**A/N: In all honesty, I'm not particularly pleased with this chapter but I needed to get it out of the way. In-game, the scene has a 'purpose' but the whole thing feels so redundant, like it's just there for ticking boxes. Umm...hope you enjoyed it?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

This is my research. This is my goddamn research!

My mood had already been soured courtesy of Therum's atmosphere, and the ascent here. This discovery was the final straw.

Though I'd landed my ship by an overhang of rock, in the shade, I was still met by a blistering heat. Which wasn't helped by my deliberately circuitous route towards the facility, making sure the perimeter was clear. Up and over hills, I went, trying not to attract a coat of fine, red dust. Followed by a steep slope, on which I lost my footing - and nearly my temper - too many times to recall, before extending over the faux-mining facility's dull metal catwalks and down into the body of a large mound of rock. Inside had offered no respite either, with none of the conditioning systems left online after it was deserted. The lower I went, the hotter it had become until even breathing became hard.

For a moment, I'd found myself wishing Cerberus had picked more idyllic locations for top secret bases. Prothean ruins be damned. I was most certainly frazzled. I don't get frazzled. Thoughts of a hot shower and a bed I'd never find without risking a second visit to Nova Yekaterinburg, only served to torment me further.

Now, as I stood in a control room deep underground, staring at the copied data on my omni-tool, my blood was close to boiling.

During my time on the Lazarus Project, I had prototyped a few possible control chip designs for use in Shepard's rebuilt body. Given his previous run-ins with Cerberus, we had no guarantee he'd work with us, and I was loathe to see two years of work, and millions of credits, go to waste.

I'd been exploring all possible methods for interfacing with the synapses - which is no easy task - and came across journals mentioning nanites. Each one would be able to react to a control signal in vastly different ways but with a larger, unified result. Due to the extent of the reconstruction and the already existing application of nanites, I had considered incorporating this other type of model throughout the nervous system. Of course, with Shepard, there was no _try_, so I'd spent weeks running all the scenarios, conducting tests; everything I could to ensure it would be perfectly safe and viable.

I remember that private part of me expecting the Illusive Man to be proud; possibly going so far as to offer direct praise. Even if we weren't able to influence Shepard via manipulation of his senses and muscles, it could allow for a complete physical 'shutdown' if things got out of hand.

The disappointment - the embarrassment - when it was dismissed almost immediately as I'd presented it still lingered in the back of my mind. _"Another failure, Miranda. Walk it off,"_ had been my sentiment at the time. I was never any good at comforting even myself.

Though I'd had my doubts, the Illusive Man had made a good call. After seeing Shepard in action, I was convinced it had been a foolish idea. Technically, it was sound. Ethically? Not so much. I had treated Shepard more like a tool than a brilliant human being.

My heart sinks. Had I ever told him this? He'd seemed so distant when we last spoke and I wasn't exactly open with him. Instead I'd created this space between us. That's one more thing I need to 'rectify'. Another item on the list...

And though I'd left Cerberus, I couldn't help feeling responsible for this new development. Had my work led to this? Everything I'd contributed was being perverted. "_We've made great progress, Miranda, and I know you'd love to see it_,_"_ the Illusive Man had said. Little had I known my father must have been involved. Smart money says the Illusive Man was preparing to hand me over to him. Dead or alive.

After all those reports I'd sent - avenues for expansion, political schemes, suggestions on areas to infiltrate - and all those assets we'd secured, I was shorn of any gratitude. The only souvenir, a mind that knows too much and a million ways to tell it. Almost makes the base on Sanctum a fitting grave. One hell of a 'legacy' that is.

Once I know Oriana is away from harm, I have _a lot_ of cleaning up to do.

In search of more information, I take an exit off into a connecting passage. The cavernous walls are close and oppressive, further emphasised by the relative darkness surrounding me. Every movement is echoed loudly, reducing the chance of a surprise attack, but my SMG's out, weaponlight already attached, just in case.

The whole facility possesses a disinfectant smell I recognise from before. Death had visited this place too. That much was certain.

After a while combing the place, I spy a datapad wedged under one of the walkways, between rock and steel; having fallen and been missed by the clean-up, I presume. Bringing my omni-tool's torch in for a better look, I access it and sift through the messages and notes.

_Dr. Pace,_

_Rest assured, Dr. Armstrong has simply been transferred directly to the Phoenix Project's head site. Cerberus hopes you will remain committed to the same end and the Illusive Man thanks you for your continued efforts. We are on the cusp of something truly magnificent._

Phoenix Project? Is that was this whole enterprise is called? Another symbolic name - Cerberus was always fond of those - but it doesn't really tell me much about its purpose. And there's no mistaking the sinister implications. People aren't mysteriously transferred unless something is up.

As it happens, a shorter message, dated a couple of weeks ago, provides more insight and the possibility of a better lead.

_Did you know about this? I got all excited when I heard Lawson was visiting. Turned out to be some grey-haired old man. Guess I should be glad we weren't chosen after all._

Sounds as if my father has been here, possibly cherry-picking or promoting some of the scientists. With the log of IFFs I've recovered from Sanctum and here, I can determine which ship was his and attempt to trace where it headed. The other possibility - and it's a long shot - is reaching an active facility and seeing if there's some way I can bring him to me. Even if I don't confront him, I could get a tracer on his shuttle and follow him right to Oriana.

Frankly, I'd take any excuse not to spend another second in this hell hole, and this is more than sufficient. I tuck the found datapad into my belt as I go.

As I emerge from the tunnel, I see a figure stood halfway across the bridge, blocking my path. Weapon raised, my eyes quickly adjust to the brighter environment. The featureless silhouette morphs into a shadow of a different kind: my Alliance one, known as 'John', a pistol held at his left hip like a rank amateur.

"You're in my way," I remark, coldly, my voice barely raised. A faint echo carries it the rest of the way.

"If I knew where you were headed it'd make that particular situation easier to avoid." Judging by his confidence, he thinks he has me trapped.

"Surely you're smart enough to guess on this occasion," I mock.

At this distance I can make out his amused smile, sitting handsomely. "Oh, Miss Lawson, I don't need to. I know exactly where you're going. And I'll be making sure you get there myself."

With teeth clenched, I issue my warning, "Not if I send you there first."

He laughs, at ease. "Expecting a death sentence so soon? Speaks volumes about your guilt, wouldn't you say? No, I'm bringing you in."

"We've gone over this..."

"True. I don't know how you eluded me before. I'd actually considered keeping you on a short leash, see where that took me, but it's pretty clear that you're too dangerous, too destructive. You have a nasty habit of _erasing_ evidence."

And that says it all. I suspect he believes I was involved in the Citadel attack, and I can guess what he found on Sanctum: a pile of rubble. Cerberus must have detonated the base by remote, yet he thinks I'm the one performing some sort of scorched earth-type clean-up operation.

I'd rather not get Alliance blood on my hands, but I don't suppose I can talk my way out of this. Then again, that option was never on the table originally...

My shot is all lined up, ready. "You have no idea how wrong you are." If I can't talk my way out, perhaps I can talk him down.

"This is your final warning, Miss Lawson. Drop the weapon." He lifts his free hand and motions left and right with his finger. "I have a team of N7 marines in the hills surrounding us. Come peacefully or we will be forced to kill you." Figures. He has to be telling the truth, even he's not stupid enough to do this alone. There goes that plan.

As much as I loathe the idea, the next best option would be to take him hostage.

I slightly readjust my grip on the SMG while allowing myself a quick glance around at the landscape. I can't detect any lurking threats. Assuming this isn't a bluff, the idiot had left quite a distance between him and his men. No one's waiting at the other end of the walkway.

"I can still take you down first. Don't think I won't." My cynical mind pipes up, _"Unless that's exactly what he's expecting me to try. Killed while resisting arrest..."_

A red spot appears, wavering on my outstretched arm before leaping onto my chest. Without thinking, I twist and back away. The sniper's bullet smacks against the side of the bridge in a resounding thud.

As I turn, I catch the crimson glint of another laser sight stretching from a distant slope. I'm already diving to the floor, though it becomes clear that this one is not directed at me.

The shot strikes John in the back, sending him tumbling to the ground, his weapon falling from his grasp.

By now I'm backed in against the solid surface of the guardrail; my only form of cover. Inches overhead I can see two more red dots roaming along the wall, seeking out their quarry. These may not be the most proficient snipers but with that number I need to limit the amount I expose myself. No taking chances, not when another life depends on me.

The Alliance agent is face down on the floor, groaning his frustration. At least he's still breathing. That's a good sign.

I've got to act fast. Take command.

I shout instructions at John, memories of Shepard on Lazarus Station entering and exit my head in an instant, "Get into the wall on your right!"

Remaining prone, he struggles to drag himself over, using just his right arm while the other hangs limp. Evidently, the bullet got his left shoulder.

He's panicked and shouting at his team over the comm channel but I can tell he's not hearing a response, repeating himself a few times to no avail. The Cerberus hit squad, my other shadow, must have seized control of the ambush. I feel a pang of guilt for considering whether or not this could work in my favour.

Keeping low, I skitter over to John, holstering my gun and replacing it with a canister of medi-gel as I approach. I'm not exactly carrying these in abundance, he'd better appreciate that.

"Either you've brought the most inept squad of marines I've ever witnessed or Cerberus are on us."

"Us?" He closes his eyes, moaning in pain. "This is your doing."

I ignore his accusation and begin treating the wound, allowing the occasional check for any enemies who might be advancing on us. He holds his tongue for the moment; the only sound his wincing when I tilt him on his side to better inspect the harm done. While I don't miss his arrogant verbalising, it does nothing for my nerves.

Thankfully, the damage doesn't look too severe. It's not hit any major arteries or organs, or ricocheted and torn up his insides; the bullet travelled straight through. Given proper medical aid, he should make a full recovery. Getting him that would be the tricky part, of course.

In preparation for the next course of action, I fetch his dropped pistol and tuck it into my belt.

"I'm going to prop you up now, OK?" It was less a question, more a warning. Lifting him, even carefully, causes a round of agonised groaning and short, sharp breaths. Eventually, he's up, sitting uneasily. His staring eyes aren't exactly full of thanks. "Good. That's good. I've got to drag for you this next bit. Get ready to move."

I bring myself into a crouch and loop my left arm under his right one; not the most comfortable position but I'd like to avoid reaching around his whole chest, near that left shoulder. Arming my other hand, I begin the retreat while keeping one eye on that narrow approach. Those invisible swords could be moving in to finish the job.

Doing my best to ignore the pained cursing from John, the slog goes fairly smoothly. No more snipers announce their presence, and no one's daring to step foot on the bridge.

Back in the relative safety of the tunnel, I lean John against the wall and kneel down to his level, addressing him earnestly. "Look, you're going to have to trust me on this one. I'm not working with Cerberus. If anything, I'm against them. But I need space to operate or we wind up in situations like this. How's the arm now?" Feebly, he manages to bring it back up. Another good sign. Even better than I hoped. "Stay here, and call for back-up. I'll draw them off. Try and limit your movement until help arrives."

His face has gone pale, sweat beading his forehead. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."

He starts making an effort to get on his feet, but the weight and tension it adds onto his injured arm and shoulder becomes too much, causing him to collapse backwards, panting and huffing as he slides down the wall.

"You don't have a choice. You'll compromise me, and you'll get yourself killed." I reiterate more sternly, "Stay here, and call for back-up."

"You're going to walk out of here and blow the place sky-high. With me in it."

It's a good point. Well, observation. It probably wouldn't help to tell him that I have no control over that outcome.

"As much as I dislike you, that's not in my best interests. Besides, the blast might not reach you up here."

He smiles weakly, "That's reassuring." His dry humour has resurfaced, though not without a heavy dose of bitterness.

"I could knock you out and dump you down below if you'd prefer." Though I'd spoken lightly, his expression tells me any kind of banter is long past welcome. The bullet had shattered his cool if not his shoulder. "Can you hold a gun?"

Studying his hand as if unprompted, he opens and closes it a couple of times, his fingers slow and awkward. I pull his weapon from my belt and gently place it into his good palm.

He looks about as surprised as I expected. "Why-"

"Grip it with _both_ hands, this time." I stand and talk down at him. "Here's what's happening: I'm going out there to keep them distracted until your Alliance buddies get here. And I'm trusting you not to shoot me in the back. Even if it's because we both know you might need those bullets. Frankly, in your condition I'd be surprised if you're able to reload."

Gun clamped in his hands, he manages to clumsily aim it out at the exit while his head rests against the wall at an awkward angle. Out of interest for my own safety I should be glad that it looks like he couldn't even hit an ocean on Kahje, but, truthfully, I'd hoped he could defend himself. He looks so helpless, slumped there, that I almost pity him.

"There ya go." I encourage him, trying not to sound too patronising if I can help it. "Given the circumstances, you're one lucky son of a bitch. I hope you know that." It's tempting to urge him to remain 'sanguine' but I manage to suppress that thought.

I don't stick around to see if my words meant anything. Though, as I make my way back into the fray, I can hear what sounds like a choked laugh in agreement before he starts requesting those Alliance troops. They'll make for a handy distraction initially, but then I have to make myself scarce.

No sooner have I stepped onto the bridge than I see a shape stalking down towards me, only a shimmer hinting at their presence. Gun held firm, I fire at it as rapidly as I can. The cloaked attacker staggers and loses their rhythm, falling after a few more rounds.

That cements my position for the time being. If they're bold enough to go on a full offensive, I can't abandon John. Not yet anyway.

In preparation for making my escape, I creep close to the other end of the bridge. Everywhere has gone deathly quiet in this windless climate. I brush matted hair away from my eyes and prepare to wait it out. The Alliance can't be too far away, as any Cerberus activity must demand an immediate response by now.

Squinting at what landscape is visible, I still can't spot anyone. Dozens of patches of heat haze pepper the hills, which is especially disconcerting as they so closely resemble the shimmer of the cloaked assassins. I could have done without another tense sprint away from danger...

For the superior stopping power I may need, I swap my SMG for a Carnifex pistol, berating myself for not having the foresight to procure a scope. Even on this sort of terrain, my aim should suffice.

What must have been twenty minutes, but felt like an hour, passes before I hear the fleet of Kodiak shuttles descending upon the area. Faint shouts come from the Cerberus troops all around, they know they're in for a fight and have no intention of backing down.

I look back at John, stuck in that same pose, and nod politely. Off to my left, the distant exchange of gunfire commences.

On that cue, I leap from my shelter and charge out onto the rocky surface and plot a course that takes me towards the battle. At least in that direction the forces will be drawn off, distracted.

A shot whizzes past me, landing in a cloud of dust a few feet ahead. Confident my shields should protect against at least one round, I don't let that affect the tenacity of my sprint.

The Cerberus troops, once concealed, are obvious now. Their paths towards the new aggressors, remaining as trailing streaks in the dirt. Scars all across the wasteland.

Then I reach that steep slope I'd struggled up in getting here, stretching down what must be at least two hundred feet. No use considering it, Miranda, just go.

And so I went, tucking my gun away before throwing myself over the edge. Rocks scrape at my forearms and elbows, as I try to steady my descent. By this point, looking up is futile. If anyone's given chase, I can't defend myself. I'm an easy target.

That knowledge hastens my progress, perhaps too much. About two-thirds of the way down, a tricky adjustment in direction sets me off-kilter. I try to slow my movement but the ground crumbles beneath one of my feet and I slam back against the harsh stone, a jagged edge jamming inbetween my shoulder blades, before tumbling down the rest of the way.

Fortunately, I'm left with nothing but bruises, grazes and an odd sense of freedom. Allowing myself to remain on the floor for a minute as I regain my breath, the conflict feels a million miles away.

I manage to haul my aching body the rest of the way without incident; my head swimming with concerns, John's fate only one of many. Too much had happened, it was a lot to absorb right now

Catching my reflection on the ship, I involuntarily let out a dry, exhausted laugh. My clothes are caked in a fine, red powder, with dark smears across the arms and legs, and grit clings to my hair. Guess I was never going to get away clean...

* * *

**A/N: This chapter took _ages_ and I rejigged a few critical elements as it went. Hopefully it all slotted together well...**

**As usual, keep the comments and feedback coming in. It's all useful. Perhaps let me know how you feel about the direction of the story, as that's my main concern. Thanks for reading!  
**

**Credit to 'Drussius' for the oceans/Kahje expression. If you're interested, he has his own story, featuring a crew of original characters, with an appearance by a certain goddamn merc. It's sort of Firefly-esque, and set during the beginning of the Reaper invasion, though with a lot of flashbacks and character-building. Just search for 'Mass Effect: Event Horizon' and you should find it.  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

The low rays of sun piercing the jungle's canvas feel like spotlights searching me out, while the early morning's haze lends an ethereal quality to the area. I tread on, my thoughts only on the task ahead.

Eventually, I reach my destination. A small nondescript building sat like an immense boulder, a large satellite dish to its side, protruding only slightly through the leaves above. The operation looks much smaller than I imagined it, but then looks can be deceiving.

As I approach the entrance, the salarian's voice comes through an intercom, absent of puzzlement or suspicion. "Who is this?"

"Ryn, it's me. Freya," I reply, playing up my Australian accent. All part of the alias.

"Thought so. Harry said you would be coming. Said you'd been most insistent. Aggressive even."

Harry was the intermediary. Convincing him to reveal Ryn's location didn't take much effort, though it had been a hastier, more 'direct' process than I would've liked.

"He's a good kid. Smart."

"Stay put."

The intercom clicks off and a few seconds pass before the door to the bunker opens to reveal Ryn standing there, shotgun pointed at me. Despite the unusual sight of a large weapon in the hands of a scrawny figure, he holds it confidently.

"That how you greet all your guests?"

"Turn around."

"Turn around, _please_," I smile as I oblige, revealing that I'm unarmed. Unfortunately, just another part of the cover. Carrying a gun does not endear you to people like Ryn.

"In. Quick," he urges as he backs away, weapon still on me.

The bunker is a cosy lived-in mess of specialised surveillance equipment, whirring and beeping in gentle tones. White noise blanketing the sole circular chamber. It's almost soothing in an odd way. I spy the makeshift bed off to one side and, despite its uncomfortable appearance, my thoughts temporarily drift to those of rest. I haven't slept properly for a good while now.

Not wanting to alarm Ryn, I wait until he instructs me to sit.

"Ryn, put the gun down already. Please." I'm not worried, but if he's nervous, he's liable to have a panic attack. I can tell he doesn't like having to point that thing at people.

He rests it on a large built-in counter nearby, next to scattered bits and pieces of assorted devices. "Why so desperate to see me?"

"I'm trying to track someone, and you're the best eyes and ears for the job."

"Yes, but why rush?" He's agitated, ignoring the compliment.

"It's high priority."

A hand moves to his chin, pensively. "Who's the target?"

"Civilian."

"Who?" He insists.

"Not important."

"Disagree."

I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious. "Why now?"

Then comes a nervous rant, in that irritatingly sharp undulating tone of his. "Trouble. It's too much trouble. Unless I know who, I won't help. Once, someone told me 'civilian', and it turned out to be a Spectre. A Spectre! Soon enough they find you. Asari. Very vicious asari. And that was a good bunker too. Nice location; close to the ocean, good shelter, cool breeze. All gone."

Ryn didn't strike me as someone who enjoyed the outdoors. Perhaps that was why.

"I'm not just 'someone'."

"True, but I can tell you are not yourself. Harry was proof of that."

"Ryn, I've come a long way to see you. Taken a great risk. And this is urgent business. I apologise for acting a little hasty but it feels like we're living on borrowed time. If I could tell you more I would. You know I would. We're both a little outside our comfort zones here." Given how salarians like to operate, an unforeseen invasion of Reapers must be incredibly distressing. Especially so for someone as restless as Ryn. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure this doesn't come back to you. Always have." The sentiment is familiar, though not reassuring. "The less you know, the better."

He relents, "Anything happens and you owe me a base."

"Relax. I just need you to track some ships." I toss a credit chit over to him. "Ten thousand, up front. There's more if you deliver."

My manner may have been relaxed, but it's all pretence. Giving out that much money pains me. I'm placing a huge bet on this search. One I'm not even sure will pay off.

The salarian's face, while not the most expressive, is marked by delight. That amount made it too good to resist, even against his better judgement.

"OK, no more questions. I will help." He takes a seat at the main terminal. "Though I must warn you, Reapers have been playing havoc with my network and activity in general has been...erratic."

"You still have spotters in Knossos, right?"

"Yes, though some are only working sporadically and I'm piggybacking a lot of the Shadow Broker's catchers."

"We'll start there and then I'll get you cross-checking other systems."

There's a certain irony in using Ryn to track Cerberus activity.

He'd always been doing it; logging the movements of all manner of vessels via his own devices or leeching off those of other information brokers. The arrangement with him had been a matter of counter-surveillance. Posing as Alliance and checking to see how easy it would be to indentify Cerberus ships and operations; scrubbing them if the risk of exposure became too great.

Overlooking an old contact like Ryn had been a grave mistake and another clear mark of how careless the organisation had become. Cerberus was rising to a crescendo, with the percussion void of nuance.

I find the relevant information and IFFs on my omni-tool and start transferring it onto Ryn's system. He sets a few terminals running and the screens come alive with snatches of data here and there.

"This could take some time," he says bluntly, his back turned.

Great. An opportunity for some time for rest. And I can't...

I slump onto a nearby surface, head in hand, looking at the floor dejectedly. In the briefest pause, all sense of momentum seems to have left my search. Shepard's out there fighting a war, and what am I doing?

After a few moments, Ryn swivels on his seat and I can feel his eyes on me. "Something's bothering you." Points for observation.

"It's nothing, really, " I lie. "Don't worry yourself."

"Heh," he chuckles, "I worry constantly. Part of life, I suppose. Worry is good for self-preservation. Preferable to pain and not as overwhelming as fear, I should think."

I can't help but smile. Salarians always find the quaintest ways of seeing things. And I probably share that perspective. Not that it's reassuring at all.

"Alright then," I begin. Since brooding won't do me any favours. "What's worrying you now?"

A glint in his eye. "Present company excepted?"

"Charming," I reply, shaking my head in mock disapproval.

"Lots of things. The krogan for one."

"Oh, yeah, I saw that. Interesting times..."

The genophage: ended. Just like that. I recall my mixed feelings on seeing the reports. I was happy for Shepard, no question. But was a cure the right thing to do? I didn't have all the information, so I could only trust Shepard's judgement.

The galactic-upheaval of the genophage had gone a long way towards cementing my initial belief in Cerberus. This was something that had happened long before humanity had even encountered other races. And what had we done on arrival? Initiated a vicious conflict with the turians. What if they had enlisted the salarians to sterilise us? While I respected the work of the STG, we needed to be prepared for all eventualities. The council races made for dangerous bullies.

In typical fashion, the salarian offers a novel, even cynical, perspective. "We shall see. I wouldn't rule out the possibility of it being a hoax."

"Really?" I am intrigued.

"The STG were always fond of subterfuge. They wouldn't surrender that power over the krogan so easily."

"I heard Commander Shepard was responsible."

His tone turns to condescension. "Please. Shepard is not a scientist. Would he even know if it had worked?"

A valid point, but Shepard would know enough. He could even be a co-conspirator. That _would_ be devious. It unveils a painful truth: I can't guess how he'd act. I feel so disconnected...

"I...I don't know," I falter.

Thankfully, Ryn seems to miss a near-slip in my cover; too pre-occupied with his troubles once again. "And, of course, from here, I can see the galaxy go dark, system by system. Though it's all just names and numbers, I think I prefer it that way." He takes a deep breath. "At this rate, old age may not take me before the Reapers. I've heard of people flocking to a safe haven somewhere. Sanctuary, I believe it was called. Sounds too good to be true."

"Usually is." I had seen the adverts for the place. Not exactly war-profiteering but somewhere thereabouts. Unless they were genuinely convinced they could hide that many people from the Reapers. By my estimation, it's a scam set up by a volus. You have to admire how shrewd they are when it comes to business.

"From what I can gather across the network, the Reapers seem to prioritise heavily-populated areas. Civilians, not military. It's safer to be alone. Certainly reduces the risk of exposure."

"Ryn, you have a million and one connections every which way across the galaxy. No matter how alone you feel, _they_ will notice."

"Hmm, then perhaps I will go dark...," he ponders distractedly, the screens having caught his attention instead. "You'd better see this. This is...confusing. I don't suppose your mystery civilian can teleport at will..."

I join him, staring at the screens but not gaining any clarity. He explains how some of the routes and travel times don't correlate; there's no conceivable way for some of the vessels to cover those sorts of distances if they're legitimate. Good and bad news. Had to be Cerberus but, most likely, the ships have been utilising cloned IFFs, or masking them, at certain points. With a group, it would still be possible to determine which had been going where but the picture was still too patchy, with huge blank areas of activity, and could take thorough manual investigation. Joining the dots could yield any number of images.

"OK, hold up," I say, pulling Erin's datapad from my belt and passing it over to him. "There might be something useful on here."

I was trying to keep Erin out of this but I'm running out of options. She'd loaded the device with enough useful intel that maybe Ryn could make something of it. Plus, there wasn't enough on there to identify her directly.

He connects the datapad to another nearby computer and taps a few buttons. A brief flash of surprise crosses his face before being replaced by a purposefully impassive look.

"Something wrong?" I enquire innocently.

"Nothing I can't fix. There appears to be a compatibility issue. Just need to grab something, that's all. Did you want a drink?"

"Oh, that would be nice." If the shotgun-greeting wasn't a clue, Ryn did not make for the best host. I had been a little parched ever since my trek here from Aegohr. "None of that strong stuff though. Water would be fine, ta."

"Understood. I have some I filtered myself."

He moves behind the large central counter and ducks down, reappearing with a couple of bottles.

"Resourceful."

"Thank you. I had considered giving all this up, and what you said made sense. I could shut down this whole operation. Disappear pretty much. No one would know I was here, no one would have reason to bother me. Perhaps even the Reapers would leave me be." Maybe it's the paranoia again, but I get the strange feeling he's trying to imply more than he's saying. He walks round and passes me my drink while he continues, "I can adapt. I could quite happily subsist, cultivating the land."

"An agrarian salarian," I jest, fiddling with the bottle lid.

"Ha!" He laughs, as he deftly twists the other bottle in his grip and strikes me hard in the head with the body of it. Caught off-guard I go down, dazed but not out. By the time I'm able to refocus, I'm on my hands and knees, Ryn standing over me, having retrieved his shotgun from the counter. I didn't think the joke was that bad...

My head throbs but there's no cut; the bottle was thick and heavy, didn't even smash. Mine's rolled out of my grasp and reach.

"Who were you trying to lead here? Why do this? Why me?" Come the questions, fast and irritated.

Still on the floor, I raise my hands and slowly lean up to look the salarian in the eye. "Ryn, slow down. You're not making sense."

"Who are you really? The Alliance wouldn't dare do this. Whoever they are, your friends won't find you."

The impulsive voice in my head screams to snatch the shotgun off him and batter him with it, but I need answers. I need him lucid.

"Cool it, Ryn. I...I don't have any friends. What are you talking about?"

I can see doubt emerge in his expression. My words seem to be getting through. Even he's after an explanation before action. We both seem pretty lost, looking like a pair of idiots. I can't believe I got knocked down by a salarian.

"Don't lie to me!" Timidly, his fingers reaffirm their grip on the gun. "The signal's already been bounced over ten kilometres away. I could kill you right now and they'd never find you."

"Then do it." I pull myself up, confident he won't act, then address him firmly, "What signal, Ryn?"

He narrows his eyes at me and his lips increase their pout before he utters in a low voice, "On your device."

"The datapad?" A dozen thoughts race through my head, they can wait until I'm not conducting a conversation from the wrong side of a gun. "Think about it for a second. Why would I get Harry to give up your hideout, come here unarmed and _then_ hand you a bug?"

"It's...it's an elaborate ruse." He's not far from the truth. Maybe not right here, in this moment, but there's definitely something going on. Can I trust Erin? Do I even know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was still dealing with her?

"Sure. One where I might end up shot to pieces. Trust me, I'm not looking to hurt you, Ryn. I need you, now more than ever."

The gun doesn't move, but his posture loosens a little. My sincerity seems to be winning him over. "Go on..."

This is frustrating. I'm still wandering in the dark, tripping over questions and mistaking them for answers. But, with Ryn's help, I could leverage this knowledge in my favour and throw some illumination on those after me. Even a spotlight narrows back to its source.

"The pad came from an informer. That's not my tracer, but I'd very much like to chase it back. Now, once again, I'll kindly ask you to put the weapon down and help me figure out this whole mess."

"It'll cost you," he warns, smile on his face.

I sigh, "Always does."

* * *

**A/N: Dramatic irony all up in here!**

**Yep, I hadn't forgotten about the story. In fact, I'd be tearing my hair out trying to make sure all the pieces will fit together in a satisfying way. Fortunately, it's starting to come together well in my head, so progress should be a little quicker and I should be enjoying the process once again.  
**

**As usual, reviews/criticism/feedback all very welcome!  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

As time went on, and news reports relayed the galactic events, it was clear that Cerberus had become nothing more than a rabid dog striking out at whatever its leash would allow.

It furthered my belief in how far they had fallen. Cerberus was meant to operate in the shadows, furthering the agenda from behind the scenes. No one was bothered with where the Normandy SR-2 came from, or even the SR-1's origins, just that it got the job done. Cerberus was meant to be the navigator, not the one in the pilot's seat. Fame had weathered the Alliance's Grissom from a pragmatic hero into a recluse. However much you try not to let it, being put up on that stage is going to affect your performance. It's too distracting.

The reckless attack on the Citadel never would have achieved anything had it succeeded, and no matter how much I tried to figure out a logical reason behind it, I always came up short. And to think how instrumental we'd been in preventing a batarian bio-weapon attack on the Council not too long ago...

Ah, Jacob. Life had gotten so busy I'd not stopped to consider his position in all this. He'd always balked at some of the more questionable aspects of his service, and it came as a surprise that he didn't jump ship when I did. He was a smart guy but a little blind to things a pessimist would spot. If it weren't for Shepard, Wilson might've put a bullet in his brain back on Lazarus. Fortunately, sources had told me he was safe. Working with the Alliance again, in some capacity. Good for him.

Though, ultimately, I am a little ashamed to have been so inconsiderate, damn negligible even, when it came to someone with whom I shared a fair bit of history - another person I'd brought into the fold. I need to get my head straight.

Of course, that wasn't going to be happening anytime soon.

What had Erin been playing at? I truly believed she was helping me, but her gift had been double-edged. I need to know her place in this. She can't have betrayed me. Too much of it just doesn't make sense.

Confronting her may seem rash but it's painfully obvious that time is running out, and I can feel that Alliance net slowly closing over the whole organisation. If I have to push to get some answers, I will.

The elevator chimes to let me know I'm at my floor. I'm greeted by an enormous lush reception with a huge angled roof on one side, its grid of windows bathing the whole area in a soft light that flattens out all colour and recreates a sense of Noveria's cold climate. I'm actually finding myself having to suppress a natural urge to shiver.

All around, a tasteful and extensive collection of sculptures and paintings sit proudly on walls and shelves, with one large spot in a dark corner reserved for an ostentatious vid-art installation; circular columns of varying height and breadth sporting deep ranges of one colour that convulse, crack and burst into the next. Something about it is off though.

"Hideous thing, isn't it?" Came the older woman's voice from my side, Australian accent emphasising her belligerence. Erin had stepped into the room through the large office doors that stood ajar. I barely acknowledge her, playing it casual for the moment. "It's supposed to have sound but it got on my nerves after a while. All jingly highs and lows across octaves, and it rings right through your head. And what's the point in the bloody thing if it's just you looking at it? It wants sharing. Hell, this whole room's full of crap. Pointless goddamn junk. I forgot why I bought most of it."

She doesn't look as dishevelled as when we last met, but she's certainly not attempting to keep up an appearance. And she sounds drunk like before, possibly more so.

"You have good taste," I offer innocuously. Though she had a point: the vid-art had been robbed of its effect. Without the sound or an audience, it appeared shallow. You'd get more from a painting. Or a display of fireworks. I recall the Normandy's drive core, that huge sphere so full of power and potential. That was a feat of engineering that held far more significance and meaning than whatever occupied that corner. If I hadn't been so busy, and if it weren't for Donnelly's leering or the quarian's suspicious gaze, I might have spent more time down there, appreciating its simple beauty. Just being nearby always gave me a pleasant, tingling sensation I couldn't quite comprehend and never quite cared to. God, I miss that ship.

"Come," she commanded, and disappeared back into the office.

Shaking away the nostalgia, I sigh and follow her in. She's moved behind a mock-retro desk - a thick mahogany thing with a dark green leather top and gilded, filigree border that sits in awkward contrast with the larger decor and high ceiling - and is unashamedly pouring herself wine from an exquisite decanter. A large window covers the sole exterior wall, shutter halfway down, blocking out the brunt of the low sunlight and leaving the room relatively dim. Everything in here looks immaculate, as I might've expected. Erin always liked things well-ordered and I suppose this is about the only place she can uphold it.

"Refreshment?" she asks, raising the container in my direction. "It's the good stuff, all right. I get it ship...got it shipped from Oz. 'The Lucky Country', my arse."

"No, but thank you. I don't intend to be here long. And I don't want to waste your time."

Leaning back against the desk, half-sitting, she smiles bitterly. "I've got plenty." Plenty of time and plenty of wine. A dangerous combination. Casually, she remarks, "Didn't think I'd be seeing you again." That's a pretty loaded statement. Great start...

"I'm like a bad penny." I test the waters to see if I'm due a hostile reaction like before. I could never tell whether she was running hot or cold.

"You look thin as one," she responds absent-mindedly. But she's right. The hunt for my father had taken its toll. I wasn't eating or sleeping properly; I couldn't afford to. "No luck locating your sister?" Interesting that she said _No_ and not _Any_. Though I'd best not jump to conclusions.

"Working on it."

With a glare, her irritation rears its head. "I gave you all I had, Miranda. And I don't appreciate you showing up here. If Cerberus knew I was liaising with you..."

Now's as good a time as any. "I think you've already played your hand, as far as that goes," I declare, presenting the custom-made datapad.

"And this is exactly why I didn't need you coming back here." She rolls her eyes. "I gave you that in confidence." Well, at least that confirms she definitely did pass it on to me.

"It has a tracer on it, Erin."

Now, her expression sharpens, offended. "I had no idea. I don't know the first thing about them. _They_ gave me the thing a long time ago. Told me it was 'secure'. And you asked for my assistance." She could be telling the truth. It's too late now anyway. What's done is done. If all it did was catch her off-guard, put her on the back foot through guilt or shock then it served some purpose at least.

"I'm only looking for answers. I came to hear you out."

"Interrogate me, more like," she says under her breath as she breaks away and moves to the window. Clutching her glass tight to her chest, she momentarily loses herself as if entranced by some invisible object out in the bleak whiteness outside. From this angle, her features are washed out, almost youthful and trouble-free. There's no guessing at what's running through her mind but I don't have the patience, and I need her back in the room.

"Erin, I'm grateful for all you've done, truly, but I get the feeling there's something you're holding back."

She'd displayed some aptitude when it came to getting me out of Alliance custody and off the Citadel, and done good work in gathering intel on Cerberus operations. And even if helping me was all an act, she had still helped me. Though I couldn't shake the feeling that she was feeding me just enough to get me out of the way. I need the whole story.

"Oh, you've got a feeling, have you?" She turns back suddenly, body tense and full of scorn.

As politely as possible, I ignore her indignation and cut to the chase. "I don't much care for your reasons but I'm giving you a chance to go straight, get out from under. None of us are innocent in all this, Erin. We both know that. You're not at the top, but you've got some height. So when this house of cards comes tumbling down - and trust me, it will - I'd like to see that you land safely. I can't do that if I've got one eye tied up, watching my back. I can't spare it." I'm sounding uncomfortably like a certain Alliance agent.

Fixated on her glass, she takes a long mouthful as she mutters in a hard, rueful inflection, "You can't help me. You're as lost as I am. Always thinking you're so bloody perfect, marching in here, making me offers. What good is one hand washing the other when both are dirty as all hell?"

I can't tell if it's the sheer mental exhaustion or an instinctive move to break her out of her drunken misery, but I switch to a more forceful temperament, involuntarily clenching my fists. "Snap out of it, Erin. This isn't you. Don't cut yourself off and don't count yourself out. Not when you can fix that." I'm one to talk. Given pause at the thought, I notice my hands and open them, adjusting my manner ever so slightly. "I'm asking for your help."

She regards me for a second before stepping away from the window to close the distance between us, simultaneously shedding the youth the pure light had granted. "What you're asking may not help you," she warns. Though her tone suggests she's leaning towards co-operating.

"I'll decide that."

She sighs resignedly, "Then ask."

"What's the Phoenix Project?" I enquire bluntly and fold my arms, confident in some reaction. The briefest twitch of the brow gives her away, so I press on, "Where can I find it?"

Erin stays silent, staring at her feet. Swallowing heavily, she answers, "I've only heard murmurs. Nothing concrete. What do you have so far?"

"Just the name." I doubt she could do anything to harm me, but I won't reveal more than necessary. Besides, that's almost the truth. I had scraps of information, nothing more.

"Guess you do need me," she scoffs, shaking her head. I resent looking clueless but I shrug, playing along. "All right, I'll see what I can dig up."

Relaxing my posture, I uncross my arms and let them fall to my side. "Thank you, Erin."

"Save it. You might not like what I find. How do I contact you?"

"I'll be on the Citadel."

She raises a doubtful eyebrow. "Not exactly the smartest place to be."

"I can handle myself. I just have a tail to shake."

"I might be able to help you there," she smirks cruelly, looking me up and down while taking a swig from her glass. "I know a club that's hiring. Though they tend to favour asari." My teeth clench at the comment. If she'd been teasing, I wasn't in the mood.

Despite trying to mask my displeasure and avoid any further confrontation as best I can, a dour sound surfaces in my words, "Goodbye, Erin. If you're lucky perhaps our paths won't cross again. I'll find my way out. Thanks again."

She raises her glass to my exit and says sombrely, "No worries."

The look etched across her face as she watched me leave would play on my mind for hours afterwards. Those leaden eyes still retained their piercing quality and that mocking smile had melted away to a grave, almost mournful expression. Is she giving me the flick or trying to warn me? It's clear she's still hiding something, but for whose benefit?

* * *

**You know the usual drill. Feedback, criticism, etc. - all welcome!**

**It'd be useful to hear what you guys think about the characters/situation/direction/whatever.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

"We must stop meeting like this. People are going to get ideas," John teased, trying not to wince.

I'd managed to surprise him as he stepped off of the elevator, grabbing his left arm and thrusting Erin's datapad into his back as I marched him against the nearest wall. His shoulder-wound had healed surprisingly well, though I could still see he was wearing bandages underneath his clothing. At least he survived, that's the important thing. And he could still serve a purpose.

"What people? There's no one here."

"I'm not as alone as you might think."

"You disobeyed my instructions? I'm hurt."

I had delivered a message to the turians on the door at Serenity. Risky move but I knew they wouldn't budge from their post. And watching the agitated twitching of their mandibles as I waved goodbye was priceless.

"I'm such a cad, I know. My team will be here any second."

"What floor do you think this is?"

Hesitantly, he ventures, "W2."

"Dear, dear," I chide. "Weren't you paying attention?"

Knowing not to trust him, I had arranged the meeting in a safe location with a viable escape route. Gaining control of the facility's transport systems was easy enough and, fortunately, John hadn't realised the elevator's display was lying to him about which warehouse level he had reached. Motion dampeners tend to aid that effect. Pressed against the wall, head turned the other way, he can't even see that the doors never closed after he exited.

His brow creases. "Alright then, which floor are we on?"

"W5."

From my position, I can see the smile spread into his cheeks, "Clever girl. Guess I should've shot _you_ in the back when I had the chance."

"I didn't invite you all the way down here to kill you. You appear perfectly capable of achieving that unaided. People _have_ been getting ideas. Wrong ones. A misguided fool's conviction is a dangerous thing."

"To which of us are you referring?"

I press the datapad further into his back and squeeze a little tighter on his arm. "I have a proposition: I scratch your back, and you stay the hell off mine. We're both working toward the same end, but we're on different paths. You're fighting Cerberus head-on, and maybe I know a way to hurt them."

"We seem to be doing a pretty good job at that already." He sneers, harbouring the notion that would incense me. "We're not going away, Miss Lawson. Hand yourself in. It'll all work out the best for everyone."

"Far be it from me to dictate your priorities, but if you want to know how certain prisoners escape your grasp, you should start looking at your own people. Cerberus has infiltrated every level of every organisation, human or alien, in the galaxy. You think they get all that power and influence from soldiers on a battlefield? Until you catch on, I'm offering to paint you a target. And all I ask in return, is time to root out the real threat."

"I really don't need another pile of rubble and bodies."

Ignoring him, I begin the pitch. "Haribon Military Industries. Name ring a bell?"

"Yeah, they're on Terra Nova. That _will_ be rubble and bodies now."

"That was the front. They deal in the black market on the side. Lots of unregistered guns making their way into batarian hands. Though, lately, I get the feeling that sector has _died down_. One guess who's using that surplus weaponry now, and I know where it's being produced."

It's nothing more than a hunch, but it gets him far enough away from me. Plus, if I'm right, and it does take weapons away from Cerberus, I'm not going to complain. Just another piece I'm moving into place.

"Just how many other secrets are you hiding inside that pretty little head of yours?"

"Only two. First, this isn't a gun," I say, twisting him round and planting the datapad in his hand before shoving him back in the elevator. "Second, we're not on W5."

Unfortunately, I'm only granted a brief look at his dumbstruck expression as I close the doors with a press of my omni-tool. And he thought he was so smart, 'tricking' me into revealing our true location to the team listening into his earpiece. An irrepressible smile of satisfaction stretches across my face. I shouldn't be enjoying this as much as I am.

* * *

The salarian's pale blue face blinks into view on the comm screen. He looks about as pleased to see me as most do nowadays. Never mind, onto business...

"Ryn, tell me you have something."

The tracer on the datapad did not lead back to Erin, at least not directly, so I was hoping he'd have some answers by now.

"I have a few things. _Interesting_ things." He squints. "Do you have my payment?"

Once his paranoia had subsided and he'd safely settled into an alternative hide-out, I'd convinced him to continue my search. Of course, he was insistent that I fund the whole endeavour, and I didn't have the energy to argue. Nor did I have the credits to agree. Now, it seems, he was holding my information hostage.

"Whatever happened to self-sufficiency, living off the land? You don't need credits for that."

"Ah, but I am still active, helping you. That costs."

"You brained me with a bottle. That's got to count for something. I still have the bruise if you'd like to see it."

"You exaggerate. Forgive me if I misremember the term but you, Miss Lewis, are strong-headed, indeed." He probably means headstrong. "Consider yourself fortunate. I could've poisoned your drink. Much cleaner, simpler." How charming.

"Ryn, you'll get your money, I promise you." I lean forward, head held level, trying to look as genuine as possible. "The Alliance considers Cerberus a very high priority, but diverting these sorts of funds can take a while."

I had every intention of getting him that money, even if it meant pawning Erin's ship and getting a cheaper one. Frankly, it might be a good idea to rid myself of everything of hers, given how tainted it must have been. Momentarily, I grit my teeth at the thought. I still can't believe I searched every inch of that ship to make sure it was safe, but neglected to check the bloody datapad. And look at where that got me...trying to reason with an especially distrustful salarian.

Contacting the Shadow Broker was an option, but she seemed a little preoccupied, fighting bigger battles. Where would I even start? Plus, I was fully aware of how effective Cerberus counter-intelligence had been at rendering a lot of the intel inaccurate or incomplete, meaning I couldn't - no, _wouldn't_ - chance Oriana's fate on potentially false leads. If I needed further proof, the Shadow Broker possessed enough power to start a war in minutes, but didn't seem capable of shutting one down.

Ryn mulls it over and then sighs, "OK. I'll give you a location. Just the one. But I still want payment. And I do have plenty more information besides."

"Thank you, Ryn. You've been a great help. Truly." I'd call him a friend if it meant anything to him. "And trust me, if your tip proves fruitful, the Alliance has a mind to buy the rest."

"I should hope so. Forwarding the intel now."

* * *

Of all the people I've had to deal with in the past few months, a volus used-ship dealer ranks among the most unpleasant. I can deal with the information trading, the black market types, the constant checking over your shoulder, but having that smug voice condescendingly lecture you on market forces is almost too much. It's probably a mark of how utterly drained I am that I couldn't stop my fist from clenching every time his suit's breather hissed. And I wasn't going to back down.

So, here I am, with the same ship and a slightly aggravated mood, heading back to the Presidium to try and cool off.

"Miss Walker!" a friendly-sounding woman calls out. I pay it no attention, striding faster if anything. The name sounds familiar but I've been through so many aliases, I was beginning to forget which I'd used. The cries continue, "Oh, Miss Walker! Miss!"

Whoever this stranger is, they're definitely after me. I wheel round hotly and fix them with a severe stare. The woman doesn't even pause, holding out another miniature, customised datapad as she approaches.

"What do y-"

"I think you dropped this." She passes the device to me and nods knowingly.

"Thank you." My tone sounds anything but grateful. No sooner had I managed to lose one of Erin's 'gifts' than I received an almost identical replacement.

With that, Erin's contact is gone and I make my way towards leaving the area just as quickly. Shouting a name, no matter how fake, is still going to draw attention.

Up on the Presidium Commons, I find a relatively quiet spot at the edge, overlooking the verdant landscape below. I lean against the edge and glance around until my eyes catch on a familiar sight, giving me a moment's pause. In one of the plant beds, there is some kind of fern bush and, not far from that, what appears to be a poplar tree. In fact, now I'm experiencing the place minus the distracting inconvenience of being in custody, I notice _all_ the flora is native to Earth. I'd been so caught up in my own affairs that I'd not taken a break to look at the scenery. I don't recall it always being like this, and I can only fathom that it's temporary decoration - part of some new initiative aimed at improving cross-species relations. Essentially, it won't last.

All the more reason to make sure we get another chance to witness this natural beauty back on Earth. I'd seen the reports, I knew all about the Reapers - they weren't too big on environmental preservation.

Regrettably, I don't have time to contemplate any of that. And gawping at the plant-life like some kind of tourist is bound to garner me some funny looks. I turn my attention to the new datapad and start checking the contents.

Erin had found a few names, Cerberus scientists, apparently. Ones who were working on the Phoenix Project but had since defected, moving under the protection of the Alliance. She wasn't explicit about it, but I figure she's expecting me to uncover their whereabouts and see if they'll talk. No easy task. More worrying is the fact that the Alliance may already be one step ahead, when all I have is names. I need to see what cards the Alliance are holding. This could call for a drastic and dangerous step...but there is a simpler way. Question is: do I dare?

I think he'd understand. It is for the greater good, after all. If there are Cerberus defectors, perhaps there's a larger movement. I can't imagine everyone supports the course being taken by the organisation. If I can reach out to them, they could be repurposed, they... Don't get ahead of yourself, Miranda. First things first.

I copy the names to my omni-tool and surreptitiously toss the datapad over the edge, watching it fall out of sight somewhere in the grass below.

I needed to see Shepard, now more than ever.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. You can probably guess the next chapter - which I was going to include in here, originally, but decided I'd keep those 'scenes' entirely separate. On the plus side, it shouldn't be long before that one is ready as well.**

**Of course, it may leave this one a little short and unsatisfying but, like Miranda herself, I was just trying to 'move the pieces into place'. Everything should become a bit clearer further down the line. If there's one chapter I may tweak here and there, it might be this one, though rest assured I will not alter any plot details.**

**A big thanks to everyone who has been reading so far! The encouragement and feedback has all been most helpful and, though it may not seem obvious, it really does help shape the writing a bit.**


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Arriving at the apartment, my first stop is the shower. After all my travelling across the galaxy and legwork around the Citadel, I was in a less than ideal state. I stare into the bathroom mirror, noticing the cool sheen of sweat on my face and the slight greasiness of my hair. Looking good, Miranda...

As I run my fingers gently across the spot above my forehead where Ryn had struck me, I expect to wince but instead find the bruise has almost vanished. I guess my fancy genes are good for something.

I peel away my clothes and shift positions as I inspect myself in the mirror, checking that the scuffs and contusions acquired during my escape from Therum had similarly healed over. It appears only the sore memory and an immovable accumulation of red dust in the soles of my boots remain.

Moving down, I groan at the sight of my lower ribs clearly showing just underneath the skin. I'd lost weight simply through neglect but what could I do? My increasingly-stretched funds were devoted to the hunt for my father and Oriana, and eating had felt more like a distraction anyway. Shopping for alternative outfits had become a distant dream.

Without any further hesitation, I step into the shower. The steady stream of hot water is invigorating, as I inhale deeply, feeling the airways clearing and some of the tension washing from my body. Though I can't quite shake the overbearing exhaustion I've been fighting back for a while now.

Dried and dressed, I move back into the main area and lean on the back of the sofa, gazing out the window at the sky cars passing in the distance. Common sense nags at me to sit, while caution tells me not to risk getting comfortable and falling asleep.

In the clear reflection of the glass I may look immaculate, but I don't feel whole. The ghostly woman in front of me stares back reproachfully, then despairingly. Shepard was joining the long list of people I'd _used_ in my search. I owed him more than that. And did I really expect him to come racing across the galaxy just to see me? Even if the idea is incredibly romantic, it just isn't practical.

Arranging our rendezvous through encrypted messages from single-use extranet accounts, like I'm some dirty little secret, may appear to add a certain spice to proceedings but, unfortunately, that's all a fantasy taking place in my head. Still convinced someone probably reads his emails, I've been keeping all correspondence as professional as I can manage. Besides, I think I'd turn an uncomfortable shade of red attempting to compose anything remotely risqué - I've always been better reacting than initiating.

My train of thought is interrupted as the man himself bursts through the door, cutting right to the chase. I can't tell whether it's because he came as soon as he could or if it's just impatience on his part. That aside, I'm glad to see him safe and in-person once more.

"I got your message, Miranda. Is this about your sister?"

What do I say? It is, and it isn't. It's...complicated. Best to be blunt.

"Shepard, I need access to Alliance resources. I can't say any more." I state confidently, before staring at my feet, sounding withdrawn. "You'll just have to trust me."

Firmly, he says, "I don't like secrets, Miranda. Just tell me what's going on."

"I can't, Shepard." My hand creeps up to my neck, scratching an imaginary itch - a nervous reflex. Seems not every part of me is capable of keeping secrets, especially from him. "If that's a problem, I'll go."

It's a risky gambit and I hate to play on our relationship like this, but the less he knows, the better.

"Don't. Trust is a little hard to come by right now." At least it worked.

Politely, I agree, "Of course."

"You'll have your access, Miranda. But I don't like the sound of this."

"I know, and thank you." I feel so guilty. Clearly, he has problems of his own. When the whole galaxy's relying on you, how could you not? I turn away, uttering in a low melancholy voice, "It means a lot." Returning to my position against the sofa, my back to him, I look out the window at nothing in particular.

"That's not the only thing you wanted to talk about, is it?"

Our time apart hasn't dulled his ability to read my body language. Ever since my discovery on Therum, I had resolved to try and be more open. This may be my last chance.

"No. I need to tell you something. Confess, really. It's been eating away at me."

"Confess?"

My head drops and I sigh, "When I headed the Lazarus Project to rebuild you, I wanted to implant a control chip in you as a safeguard. The Illusive Man stopped me_."_

During the quiet moments, I'd found my thoughts drifting to Shepard. He'd shown me the value he placed in people, how he inspired loyalty by respecting others and taking the time to set their minds at ease, rather than expecting them to automatically fall in line for the good of the mission. Something I thought the Illusive Man had understood, until our fight against the Collectors had exposed some hard truths.

"Sounds like it would have saved him a lot of trouble," Shepard remarks. I know exactly what he's doing, trying to lessen the issue with wry humour. I wish it were that simple.

"Maybe. He didn't want to interfere with who you truly were. Something that just obeyed orders. He wanted Commander Shepard. Installing the chip might have ruined you."

"I understand why you wanted to. I was a complete unknown."

Of course he bloody understands! He's Commander Shepard, the man with the patience of a saint. I'm betting he already knows this is probably more for my benefit than his.

"I've never had to deal with that many black boxes on a project. I felt blind." I bring myself upright and look him square in the eye, hoping the mixture of stress, anger and sadness doesn't come spilling out across my face.

"Why bring that up now?"

"I fought against my father and his need to run every aspect of my life. He wanted total control over me, right down to my bloody DNA." As with every time I mention him, I can feel the rage building up. Crossing my arms helps, it's a practised measure that closes off the body language, keeping those wilder gestures inside. "After I got out of there, I couldn't stand by and let it happen to my sister. I risked my life to get her away from all that." _Still_ _was_, I remind myself painfully. "Yet I didn't give a second thought to destroying your free will when I had the power."

Sounding slightly surprised, he asks. "This is what's been bothering you?"

"I told you, it's crazy."

"It's not crazy." A smirk and cheeky glance emerge on his face. "Well...maybe a little crazy."

"Shepard..." Any other time, I'd be up for a little teasing, but the weight hasn't lifted yet.

He moves in closer, speaking reassuringly, "Miranda, I lost two years of my life. You gave me back the rest of it. You could have changed me in a thousand different ways. But you didn't. I don't know how, but you brought me back."

"Thanks." Maybe I was being foolish. It's too easy to focus on the negative when that's all you've been brought up to recognise. I'm reminded of an old saying, something about a cynic knowing the price of everything, but the value of nothing. Trying to explain myself, I continue, "But with so much being uncertain, I just wanted you to know I always regretted wanting that chip."

"Miranda, we're both under so much pressure to be perfect, we never give ourselves a break."

"We can't give ourselves a break," I lament, staring off into the distance. "There's too much at stake."

He calls over, "Hey."

"Yes?"

I turn to see him sat on the bed, a hungry look in his eyes.

"Come here," he encourages in a recognisable tone. Is this what he meant by giving ourselves a break?

"Oh." I smile and begin strutting towards him, asking playfully, "Still impatient, Commander?"

"Still trying to maintain control, Miss Lawson?" he teases, knowing how to nudge me out of my shell with just enough tact.

"Trying...but failing." I lean over him, a hand on his knee, finally aware of the tension flowing from both of us.

I can't deny how desperately I need him, how every fibre of my being longs for his embrace. To feel those powerful arms around me, that gentle touch across my skin, the warm breath on my neck. To know that I'm safe and not alone.

"Good." His head tilts slightly, our eyes locked on one another now. "I'm almost out of moves."

"I'm not," I grin, pushing him down onto the sheets.

Perhaps I do get that fantasy after all.

* * *

Slowly, the world comes back into view as I wake from my slumber, the artificial sun streaming in from outside offering no clue as to what time it is. I must have been out a while because I feel strangely refreshed, all my worries dissolved. Stretching, I reach over to Shepard, but...he's not there.

I shoot upright and pull the covers over my naked body, checking nothing's happened. Then I spot the PDA and access card on the bedside table. I reach over and fetch the device, collapsing back into the bed to read the message left on there:

_Miranda,_

_I hate leaving you like this, but you looked so peaceful, I couldn't bring myself to disturb you. In all my time, I don't think I've ever witnessed a more beautiful sight._

_It seems we can only take breaks for the most important people in our lives, and even then not for long._

_I won't ask what you're planning on doing, though I hope, in time, you'll feel comfortable sharing more with me. We've been through so much, nothing can possibly change how I feel for you._

_And, as much as you hate hearing it, I will ask that you be careful. For me._

_I love you, Miranda. I've never met anyone like you, and I couldn't bear losing you._

_Sleep, get your rest, and I'll see you soon enough._

I let the PDA fall to my side and stay staring at the ceiling for a moment, lips quivering and tears welling up in my eyes. All right, I forgive you, you damn softy...

* * *

**A/N: Forgive the cheesiness. Not used to writing this sort of thing...even if most of the work was done for me.**

**Hopefully, I haven't disappointed anyone with the direction I chose, i.e. no pillow talk.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Was I really doing this? Especially unarmed. Well, here goes nothing...

For a lion's den, the Alliance base appears fairly sedate. Perhaps that's what worries me.

With the Sol system under Reaper occupation, the Alliance had been granted control of the warehouse district of the Bachjret Ward, where they'd set up shop fairly quickly, and done an admirable job, so people say. Though, from here, it looks a lot like the refugee camp, only with more guns, uniforms and people who may take a dislike to me.

Following the Cerberus attack, the increased vigilance has put a lot of extra bodies here, and if someone recognises me, this could all go wrong very quickly. At least the tracer shows 'John' is off somewhere in the Xe Cha system. Thank heavens for small mercies.

On approach, I'm reminded of an old bit of advice from way back when I started intelligence work: _Fake it till you make it_. I stroll across the crude courtyard, trying my best to look as if I belong here without lifting my chin too high, giving the impression that I own the place. That's the hardest part. I was designed and raised to draw attention - no, to demand it - and I've never quite lost the habit. These bloody heels probably don't help matters either. I've got a few heads turning, once again, but rather than ignore them and raise suspicions, I smile politely. This is painful.

At the main door, one of the soldiers standing guard looks me up and down, stone-faced. Ignoring this, I reveal my access card, complete with visual ID, and he steps aside compliantly. My cautious instincts suggest he may be allowing me inside ready for a trap, but I can't recall having seen his face before, and I haven't seen myself on Wanted posters anywhere. I assume I'm on some Alliance watch list, though whether they'd expect me to wander right into one of their outposts was in question. Putting all these nagging doubts aside, I swipe the card and gain entry.

Inside, the place is immense and confusing, halting me in my tracks for a moment. I spy some form of improvised reception, made up of a lone table and basic terminal, off to my right and make my way over to the friendly-looking clerk sat there. Better to admit I'm a little lost, and look slightly foolish, than wander around aimlessly.

A brief conversation sets me on the right track and convinces her that I'm just a bit ditsy, perhaps laying it on a bit too thick. That was definitely more painful than the smiling.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Intelligence Office is little more than a cordoned-off part of a loading bay at the end of a long, guarded transfer corridor. A network of humming terminals occupy the benches, with cords and wires trailing about the floor; it almost looks ramshackle, endearingly so. Thankfully, given how isolated the sections of this 'base' are from one another, I'm afforded some privacy for this task. It certainly contributes to the feeling of breaking-in. Though, apart from the soldiers out by the entrance, the entire place feels devoid of personnel. Where else could they be? Did the Reapers hit humanity that hard? That was never the impression I got, and I'd ask someone here if it didn't risk exposing my own ignorance.

I move over to one of the computers and study the setup for a moment, noting the authenticator slot for inserting the access card. That would be too easy...

Establishing a connection with my omni-tool, I load up the metamorphic virus acquired from one of my sources a good while back. I haven't used it on an Alliance system before, but if it's as good as I'm told, it should cover my tracks. I'd rather not abuse Shepard's trust any more than I have already by incriminating him in what I'm doing here.

First order of business, and the easiest part, is getting that money to Ryn. He can't deny that Freya's an Alliance agent now, I guess. I should probably feel guilty, using Alliance funds like this, but the information could prove vital for more than locating Oriana.

That completed, I pull up the personnel database in search of the ex-Cerberus scientists and find the names soon enough. Interestingly, they're behind top-level security clearance, and I know for a fact that Shepard had only granted me up to level-five. Should I feel insulted? The fact that he used a ridiculous name like Bartowski for the access card was a minor thing, amusing in its own odd way. This is...disappointing.

Well, now's not the time to fuss, and it's an obstacle easily overcome. A bit of tinkering with infiltration software on my omni-tool disables the blocks and opens the files.

On seeing the message within, my thoughts race. Was Erin playing games with me or was she misinformed? I couldn't very well go tracking down the scientists with an instruction that 'All activity is to be approved by Admiral S. Hackett' and nothing else. I grit my teeth and suppress the urge to strike the screen in frustration. This really is top-level stuff and will no doubt have sent up flags too. Time to finish up business and get out of here, fast.

And what faster way than a ship? The docks are close enough to here, and 'Agent Bartowski' must be allowed some form of private transport. This way I get to ditch Erin's ship as well. Plus, I'm sure the Alliance won't miss just one...

* * *

New Thebes is an ugly city for an ugly planet. Ravaged by a fierce war over slavery between humans and batarians close to a decade ago, it was still recovering. The extent of rebuilding required had presented an opportunity for Cerberus to stake a claim through front companies, getting in on the ground floor, quite literally. As a result, the location had never been intended as a new utopia but as a suitable site for numerous activities away from prying eyes.

Looking from the ship as I pass above the city, the sporadic make-up of buildings, with dilapidated areas sitting alongside walled-off, affluent communities, leads me to consider the magnitude of control exerted by the corporations. Though I could tell this wasn't some cardboard cut-out settlement. Thousands of families called this home, there was no denying that. Could my father be down there somewhere? My gut tells me he couldn't stand a place like this. As much as I hate to admit the relation, if I don't like it here, he wouldn't either.

Ryn had pinpointed the convergence of starship movement around the factory district on the outskirts of Anhur. Not far from that, my attention is drawn to a plaza where there sits a line of large personnel-carrier starships, surrounded by a huge crowd of people, presumably holding some faith that they can elude the Reapers. But I know running is no use, they had to be confronted. Stopped. No pressure, Shepard...

Erring on the side of caution, despite the lack of any docking authority nearby, I set down on an open stretch of dry, undeveloped land some distance from my goal. If there is a Cerberus facility, or something tracking IFFs, best not to advertise my presence.

I pack my weapons on my person, under the impression that they may be required for where I'm going, if not to ward away some of the more unsavoury residents. Some of whom I pass on my journey into the hustle and bustle of the city, loitering on the corners of rundown streets, advertising what I assume are narcotics of one form or another under the guise of various slang terms. It's a sorry sight, but I don't have time to dwell on the ills of society. Though, curiosity leads me in the direction of those shuttles. They don't look like Alliance, and I doubt Eclipse are playing the heroes for a second time in this planet's history.

The throng of people stretches back a good three hundred feet, slowly shrinking as the front end filters out into neat queues that snake aboard the ships. A mixture of frustration and desperation fills the air, while chatter expresses worry just as much as hope. With lined brows, beads of sweat on their skin, and their feet shuffling in agitation, clearly, the congregation had been waiting for quite some time.

I find the friendliest-looking person at the fringe of it all, a woman with a young girl of about six, at whom to direct my questions. She doesn't appear to acknowledge my presence, too occupied with standing on tiptoes to peer over the crowd for some sign of what is happening before slowly inching further forward.

"Excuse me," I say, loudly enough to overcome the noise, "where are these shuttles headed?"

The woman clutches her daughter's hand a little tighter and briefly diverts some of her attention my way.

"Sanctum, I think," she replies in a less than formal-sounding dialect. That can't be right. Then she remembers something. "Maybe Sanctuary. Or Salvation or...or something. Can't remember exactly what they said. We'll just be glad to get off this rock. Won't we sweetie?" She smiles at the little girl, who until now has been staring at me, quite distractingly so. I'm avoiding her curious gaze as best I can, and silently cursing myself for initiating any exchange at all. Seeing civilians, especially the naivety of a child, during wartime is distracting; wringing my hands over their fate among all this chaos wouldn't do anyone any good. I'd managed to push those thoughts from my mind, months ago, keeping my attention firmly on the task at hand, and now I'd confronted it, threatening to bring it all back into perspective. Sanctuary won't keep them safe, but I don't have the heart nor the inclination to shatter that illusion. Besides, I had the facility pegged as a way to scam the rich, who felt as if they had more to lose and would willingly pay their way. When did that change?

Not wanting to become sidetracked any further, I thank the woman and depart, the child's bright, inquisitive eyes following me the entire way.

Figuring out exactly which of the factory buildings is Cerberus-controlled, doesn't take long. Most are genuinely rundown, completely abandoned, with only one emitting a faint energy signature. This particular structure is fairly large, and a quick tour of its perimeter confirms that an enclosed shuttle bay covers an entire length of one side. Must be a supply or transfer hub of some kind. That would certainly explain the amount of traffic going back and forth.

Like the facilities on Sanctum and Therum before it, it looks abandoned, but that might be blind optimism. I make my way towards one of the small side entrances, checking as I go. The din of the crowds is barely audible here, lost among the high walls and clutter, with only the loud reverberations of my footsteps suggesting the presence of life. Try as I might, I can't completely mute my approach.

Fortunately, beyond the exterior lockdown, there's no additional security to overcome, and the override suite on my omni-tool works its charms just as it had before. With a languid hiss, the door slides neatly aside, allowing me passage into the darkness.

Almost a natural habit now, I flick on my torch and draw my submachine gun before taking another step. I tread carefully down the narrow corridor, watching for the slightest movement, though mostly confident that the place is empty.

Rounding the corner and climbing a set of stairs brings me to a control station, and a little bit of tampering brings the power on, startling me in its suddenness and volume. In front of the terminal, the rest of my surroundings are gradually revealed as overhead lights sequentially blink into life and various machines fire up.

One half of the building houses half a dozen mid-size supply shuttles docked in a row, each beside a platform adjoining the main walkway, and all ready to launch, it seems. Containers and typical warehouse equipment, nothing out of the ordinary, occupy the rest of the floor space. I've seen enough to relax my guard a little, safe in the knowledge that I'm the only person here.

A few minutes' perusal of the computer validates my theory: some of these ships had been operating with forged IFFs that I'd recovered from other Cerberus sites. And if things weren't looking up already, they have automated flight procedures with all but one of the pre-programmed destinations marked unavailable. I'm betting those are the now defunct facilities, meaning the last had to be the locus point, the final piece of the puzzle. The hint of a smile on my face, I begin accessing the navigation data. All that remains is to find out exactly where...

Damnit! Encrypted. I knew my luck wouldn't hold.

My fingers work the keyboard with added haste but to no avail. Even my omni-tool's software can't decipher the final destination; it's all locked inside the guidance units aboard the shuttles.

Following up that angle, I open the bow of one of the vessels, step inside and make my way into the cockpit. Given that the flight control is handled entirely by onboard computers, the area is shorn of any comforts you might usually find, even the seats. I find the 'brain' sat proudly on the main panel, but as soon as I start probing the systems it emits a loud whirring sound and small trails of smoke escape from the back. Oh, it keeps on getting better. An anti-tampering measure. I sigh but I'm not beaten yet. I always have a plan, or so I tell myself. _Fake it till you make it._

Moving back to the shuttle bay's console, I unlock another of the ships, and toss in one of the tracers I'd purchased from Ryn, hearing the satisfying magnetic clunk as it affixes itself to one of the surfaces. Then I use the main computer to send the vessel on its merry way, briefly noting the clockwork action with which the relevant section of roof parts before I start the rush back to my own ship, aiming to follow the tracer while it's in range. I doubt the shuttle will reach one of the signal black spots before I catch up to it, but I'm not taking any chances.

Heading back through the centre of the city, I can walk clearly across the plaza now that the crowd has almost finished filling the personnel carriers. Things look more lively near the outskirts where I'd landed, as people of the real underclass mill about, mindless of the world. Funnily enough, there's the possibility that some aren't even aware of the Reapers, or just don't care.

It's this environment that marks the smartly-attired and clean-shaven man, leaning patiently against a wall the next street down, as so incongruous. His head angles slightly in my direction, pausing for a moment before he casually tilts it back and then to the sides as if stretching his neck. But I'm not buying it. I turn on my heel and begin heading back in the opposite direction, allowing a furtive glance back at him. He's pushed off the wall and started following. Not good.

I increase my pace, kicking litter aside rather than alter my course, and reach the next junction, where I spy a couple more suspect individuals closing on me from both sides. Who can they be? I thought I'd given Cerberus the shake the same time as the Alliance. Shouldn't have gotten cocky.

Another look back catches one of the pursuers, a well-built man, reaching inside his jacket. Without any hesitation, I break into a sprint, making it out of the maze of streets and onto the plaza; all the Sanctuary transport ships now having departed, lending the immediate vicinity a distinct ghost town atmosphere. My footsteps echo against the tiled surface, and the chorus of running feet behind suggests I have at least five people on my tail. I think I've managed to put some distance between us, but it's hard to tell just by sound, and I'm not breaking step to check.

To avoid leading them towards the Cerberus base, I divert off into another network of streets, looking for an entry point while trying to mentally map the layout from what is visible. The last thing I want is to be boxed in. I round a corner a little wider than I'd hoped, understandable given my speed, but recover quickly and stay tight against the wall until I reach the next block. Once past that junction, I spot an alley ahead and slip into that, stopping to draw my pistol and catch my breath. About halfway down, beyond the clutter, there's an intersection leading off at a ninety-degree angle that I note as a possible escape route.

I peek back around a few times before the first of my pursuers catches up; the man's sprint petering out, arms falling to his side, as he realises he's lost sight of me. He moves aside as the rest of his group join him, all of them now armed. That's when I spot 'John' among them. I'd fully expected him to track the Alliance ship I took - knowledge I'd planned to put to good use - but trust him to be so goddamn efficient about it.

With his usual misplaced confidence, he strides down the street in my direction, weapon at his side, calling as he goes.

"Lawson, come out. There's no place to go." He signals back to the others, pointing off to the sides. In silence, they disappear out of sight while he continues edging closer. "The damage is done. Immunity's off the table, but that doesn't mean we can't make a deal." As if immunity were ever an option...

I tuck into the alley wall, back firmly against it, and check the other end is clear, before taking a moment to weigh up my options. If I delay too long, I'll be surrounded, but I have to know what's got him so riled and how it is that Cerberus haven't followed him either.

Without moving, I shout my response. "What damage?" I have half an idea what's happened.

"Don't play it like this, Lawson. The Crucible isn't just any old project. Where's the data?" This is more serious than I'd realised. No wonder they're after my head.

"I didn't take any data," I insist.

His voice remains at a constant level. He's halted in his tracks. "Someone put you up to it, someone got you into that base. Give up your inside man, Miranda. Cut a deal. It's your only chance."

It hits me like a ton of bricks. Not only had I implicated Shepard, but it sounds like someone else on the network must have taken advantage of my momentary breach of security to steal Alliance intel. As much as I didn't want to accept it, Erin had played me. Those scientists' names probably meant nothing beyond the level of restriction on them. The timing was too perfect, too planned. The whole damn thing was a set-up, and I'm stuck with the heat.

"I saved your life. Do you think I meant for this?" I ask, indignation rising in my tone. "Someone else has manipulated things. I _told_ you to look at your own people. None of this was meant to happen. Trust me, I'm trying to help."

"Forgive me if I offend, but you don't exactly inspire trust." His wry tone dissipates once more. "If you want to help, come in. Don't do this alone."

"I have no choice," I state grimly.

No response comes, but if he is sneaking closer, he's moving with impossibly light feet.

A few seconds later, he speaks, sounding almost rueful. "So be it. But before we kill you, answer me one thing. Why the datapad? I thought you were trying to lose me, not follow me."

The fool thinks I never intended for him to discover the tracer. I'd actually counted on running into him again at some point, if only to see if Cerberus were still relying on the tracer now that I'd confronted Erin with it. The available evidence indicates they weren't.

Time's almost up, so I have to keep it brief. "Listen to me. The tracer isn't mine. Figure out who's at the other end."

Without another word, I start making my way down the alley, careful not to disturb any of the debris, and take the intersection, heading further into the development. Stopping at the end, I peek out and spot one of the Alliance team, waiting by the street corner to the right. I could probably get through her, but it would be unwise to attempt it when I don't know who else might be round that corner. There is one way to find out...

I head back into the junction and take a left, following the alley to the opposite end from where I'd held the exchange with John. To my surprise, a quick assessment shows a clear route and I switch to a one-handed grip on my gun, preparing to move. No sooner do I exit onto the street, sprinting to freedom, before I hear John shouting after me. Alerted to my movements, the woman at the corner rounds onto the same street, but I've already spotted her, firing a few warning shots that send her back onto the adjoining street, cowering.

Forced to find cover myself, I continue straight across into another alley, with shots, most likely from John, ricocheting against the walls. I take a right at the next opportunity and, as expected, find myself facing the plaza once more. Desperate, and out of options, I plot my course towards the Cerberus base. The Alliance ship I arrived in is compromised, making those shuttles the only game in town. My heart's beating its protest even stronger now, and my breathing heavy, but I can't let up, even just a bit. I'm out in the open for this stretch, and though John's shouting from the streets behind means the team are disorganised, they'll figure it out soon enough.

Reaching the side entrance, I skid to a halt, and bring up my omni-tool interface, frantically tapping away, gun still in-hand, to reopen the door while those ominous footsteps grow louder - much louder - and ever closer. The seconds that pass while the tool works feel stretched beyond reason, as I worriedly watch the corner where my pursuers will surely appear any moment.

As if I've willed it, the fastest of the Alliance party, dashes into view, raising his weapon clumsily while he attempts to decelerate. The sound of the door's pneumatic hiss bursts in my ears and seems to continue even as I dart inside, offering the man only the briefest of glimpses before I lock it behind me. Let's hope that holds them long enough.

A few more presses on my omni-tool brings the power back on, startling me despite the foreknowledge. I cover the corridor with great haste and take the stairs almost as quickly, almost crashing into the console as I approach it. Hurriedly, I begin programming in my own coordinates for three of the functioning shuttles that remain; the most harmless locations I can think of, just anywhere off in scattered directions to lessen the chance of being followed. The last shuttle, my ride, I leave unaltered.

Once that's done, I setup a sequence to automatically launch every shuttle and rush aboard my particular one. A peculiar wave of relief washes over me, as the hatch closes, sealing me in. Then I'm reminded of the vessel's purely functional adjustments and sigh, before finding a place on the floor, all set for an incredibly uncomfortable ride. In more ways than one. I have no idea where this will take me, and with the Reapers out there, I might not even get that far.

Here goes nothing...

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if this took a while. I may have gone a bit overboard with this chapter, and if you know what's coming next, I imagine that shall be even longer still.**

**Hopefully, the various plot strands are starting to make a bit of sense now, but rest assured there may be some further clarification later on if needed. And maybe a twist...**

**A big thanks to everyone who has been reading so far, especially to those leaving reviews and feedback. Very much appreciated!  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

The baton round thuds against my right shoulder, white hot pain blooming onto my chest. As much as I try to stifle the sound, for fear of reproach, an agonised yelp can be heard behind my pursed lips, even carrying through the sound-proofed chamber. The impact unbalances my gangly and exhausted body, and I twist, falling onto my backside, legs stuck underneath at an odd angle.

As I sit uncomfortably, hand instinctively covering the stinging wound, I catch my father's watchful eyes and hold their gaze, unsure whether I'm conveying indignation or pleading. Had news of my repeated failure merited a personal appearance for these latest sessions? He watches passively from behind the 'safety instructor', in reality some form of ex-soldier, dressed in full black combat gear and mask.

Eventually, after a few moments of studying me, he speaks. "Come, Miranda. We can do this." He never raises his voice, but I can sense the anger. I was not performing to his requirements.

I swallow and attempt a response, eyes darting nervously between him and the armed man. "I...I'm..."

"Now, now, I've told you about excuses. They are merely the tools of the incompetent. I gave you the means to achieve greatness." He unfolds one arm and gestures for me to stand. "Up. Come on. This is for your own benefit."

It was always 'for my benefit'. I was learning to use my biotics to create a protective barrier against gunfire in case of shield failure or other circumstances. Time and again, he'd warned me against the dangers of the big, bad galaxy, and how turians would not hesitate to put a bullet between my beautiful blue eyes. Though, the only people who had ever attacked me were the faceless men brought in by my father...

Not seeing any other option, I drag myself off the ground and plant my feet firmly in position, preparing for the next attempt. I make balls of my fists, trying so hard to focus my power that the nails dig into my palms, and reluctant to unclench them, use my wrists to brush aside the strands of hair matted to the sweat on my forehead.

In all the 'lessons' I'd undergone, only once had I ever stopped the bullet from hitting me. Even then, it seemed down to dumb luck more than anything. My body still bore the bruises from day after day, month after month, of this process, and I could tell that even the combat-hardened man doing the shooting, felt some remorse as time went on. Just the other day, he had momentarily hesitated at the instruction to adjust fire towards my stomach; my father believing the more vulnerable spot might spur me to succeed. It made no difference to my abilities and I'd doubled over, choking for breath, tear-filled eyes briefly managing to penetrate beyond that black mask of his.

The next effort goes much the same as before, my biotics flaring only briefly before the empty sensation they cause overwhelms me, and all control lapses. My other shoulder receives the bullet and my legs give way, succumbing to fatigue more than the force. My father exhales loudly and calls for another go, this time, counting down the shot himself. I don't think he understands - or cares about - the amount of strain biotics put on the body, especially a still-developing one like mine, and his increased involvement in the task is never a good sign.

The barrier fails again but, this time, I stand firm and almost casually shrug the bullet aside, the stubbornness earning an amused laugh from my father. Perhaps it's an indication of my senses going numb, but the injury is closer to a prickling sensation than the usual burning one.

Without delaying, I face the man with the gun once more, bent forward, chest heaving. Whether or not my father meant for me to lose my cool, he's achieved that.

"Focus, Miranda. Put your mind on the task. This man means to kill you. Defend yourself," he insists, trying to sell the scenario. Next, he coldly instructs the ex-soldier, "Aim for her head on the next one."

My eyes widen in shock and the protest catches in the dryness of my throat, "What? No, I..." The rounds may be non-lethal, but this is pushing it.

"We need a little stimulus, child." There is no _we_!

The man in black readies his weapon and holds it steady, the deep black of the barrel a pinpoint, dead centre of my vision. My father starts the countdown, causing my muscles to quiver in grim determination. I can do this...

The countdown reaches zero, then...nothing happens. Irritated, my father repeats himself, but the armed man doesn't respond.

A moment of silence passes, then the ex-soldier stands fully and pushes the rifle sideways into my father's chest, handing it over wearily. Without another word, he makes for the exit, discarding his mask in the process.

"Return immediately. That's an order," comes my father's ignored call. I can tell he's not used to anyone disobeying him.

I'm frozen to the spot, unsure if I should be relieved or worried.

Barely missing a beat, my father takes up the rifle himself, pointing it at my face. He doesn't look too comfortable with it, but at this sort of range I can't imagine it makes much difference.

"Once more, Miranda. No stopping now. We're getting close." He speaks distantly, as if this is his duty. Then the slow countdown commences, "Five...four..."

Suddenly, an unnatural rage awakens inside me and I resolve to make him the conduit, utilising the offensive biotic capabilities I'd heard about; any of them. Focusing my biotics, energy crackling all around me, I summon every bit of strength I have left, ready to unleash the full force.

"...three...two..."

Overexertion kicks in once more, and the power wanes, my knees weakening, arms dropping to my side. I cry out in anguish, unable to recover.

"...one."

My vision explodes in a flash of white light.

The room spins, sways and flickers.

Colours bleed into one another.

A thud.

Then darkness.

* * *

I jolt awake, reflexes stiffening my right arm until it's fully extended in front of me, gun in hand. A sharp intake of breath fills my lungs. My eyes are wide and alert, already looking for threats. Fortunately, nothing greets me except the cold tranquillity of the cockpit. Though that's not exactly comforting. I relax my arm and let the breath out slowly, resting my forehead in the palm of my free hand.

Damnit, Miranda. Don't sleep on the job. Get it together.

_This is for your own benefit._

The words echo in my head, startling me upright. A mantra from my childhood, ever a painful and unwelcome reminder. Had I been dreaming?

A sudden chill passes over me, eliciting a long shiver from my entire body as my predicament comes into focus. I'm cold and alone, inside a freight shuttle, heading who knows where. A tin can adrift in a wide open sea.

Then the noise of the engine becomes clear, the subtle pulses ever so slightly lowering in pitch. We're decelerating.

I holster the gun and stand up, making my way over to the navboard, where I watch the atmosphere-entry sequence begin. This wasn't the aftermath of a relay jump. Clearly, we'd arrived at my final destination.

I must've been out a while. I remember failing to establish a communication link to anywhere, and retrying at regular intervals across a few hours before tiredness overcame me. Now, I can't even guess at where or how far I've travelled, only how long. Idiot...

_Focus, Miranda. Put your mind on the task._

I flick on my omni-tool once more and try for a connection or some information to help gauge my coordinates. Nothing. Static in one case, and instant failure in the other. A quick diagnostic informs me that all signals are being jammed. I guess it's a good indication that I'm somewhere I shouldn't be. Somewhere operational.

I re-arm myself and take up a sheltered position where I can keep an eye on the door as well as the navigation system. Mentally, I try to shake off the nagging thoughts in the back of my mind and prepare for whatever may lie ahead.

The better part of half an hour passes before I spot the docking systems activate, sensors blinking into life. Not long until I find out where the tides have swept me...

* * *

**A/N: First of all, apologies to anyone who expected this chapter to feature 'something else'. Had a flash of inspiration and decided to follow that. I'm actually very pleased with the result and hope you are, too.**

**Secondly, a big thanks to everyone on the BSN who had a read of the earlier draft and left encouraging feedback, especially user Awska (lillitheris on BSN) who helped me better shape the portrayal of Henry Lawson. She has her own post-Destroy-ending, FShep/Liara story going on in 'ME4: Unity', if you're interested in that sort of thing. It features many of your favourite characters (some overlooked by ME3 itself) and is generally very well-written, with its own unanswered mysteries and complications in the works as well. It's clear that a lot of thought and effort goes into it.**

**And last of all, a massive thanks to all of you still reading and reviewing! You make it all worthwhile.**


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

Despite travelling across the galaxy, it felt as if I had wandered through a tunnel, from one cave to another. The journey had been very much like visiting the Illusive Man: completely blind. It was the arrival that differed, with not a single Cerberus guard here to greet me immediately upon exiting the ship. Good start. I wasn't exactly expecting a warm welcome.

I found myself inside a large hangar, one sparsely populated by a few other fighters and shuttles as well as some familiar-looking large freighters all lined-up and locked into mechanical braces. My tracking device had identified the other ship launched from Anhur, right next door to the other in which I had arrived. Two homing pigeons locked up once more.

The area's external blast doors had sealed off the outside world, with the only illumination coming from strips of light overhead, most blocked by the towering vessels that sent long shadows stretching across the floor. My eyes had adjusted to the low light and carefully watched for threats from all corners.

Now, finally sure the area is clear, I start my approach. Using what cover I can, I hurry towards the cargo passageway, having noticed a security outpost sat next to the personnel entrance. Every step I make punctures the atmosphere. It's quiet. Far too quiet. All familiar signs I was at the right place: a secret Cerberus facility. I was prepared to bypass the door, having gained enough relevant programs, intel and algorithms from contacts as well as all the previous excursions, but it's already unlocked.

As the wide metal door panels shift apart, humid air rushes out, filling me with a sense of dread. I'm reminded of one of my father's greenhouses, large structures stacked with all manner of experimental flora that exuded a pungent mix of scents that stuck to your skin and in your hair. Each of them as much as a project as I was, spite had tempted me to destroy them, to pick at the slightest imperfection until nothing remained but piles of petals and snapped stems. Picturing the long-term consequences for such a rebellion was the only thing that had stopped me.

Once past the transit area, I encounter a hub where I can see doors in every wall, one marked 'Subject Disposal' and carrying a warning about hazardous materials and the necessity of a hazmat suit. That eliminates it as a route of enquiry but not as a cause for concern.

My attention is drawn to the distant thrum that I can feel beneath my feet and pushing against my eardrums, making this feel more like a factory than a lab. I follow the sound deeper into the structure, gun gripped tightly, eyes fully alert and ears pricked up.

The search takes me along enclosed passageways, thick metal doors breaking them up every fifty feet or so, and into another larger junction where I pause to gather my bearings. Off to my right, heavy footsteps approach, a pair of them. Without hesitation, I decide on the best spot in which to conceal myself and rush over.

I hear the door open and two figures enter in an almost synchronised march. Allowing them to cover a little distance first, I steal a glance at their backs from behind a counter. Cerberus soldiers, all trussed-up in thick body armour and helmets, much heavier kit that I'd seen them using before. They really had committed to this war.

Once the men have gone, I exit through the same door by which they entered. This takes me down a couple more hallways and into the labs proper, specifically 'Incubation Research 03'. Considering the layout I'd seen so far, with no upper levels and no other obvious external exits, this facility must be huge, possibly built into the ground or underneath some other large structure.

The metallic surfaces are bathed in a soft blue light, with pipes running overhead and along the upper part of some walls, while thick black cables trail along the floor haphazardly. Wide support beams and dividers obscure most of my view, but I can hear signs of life inside.

Hastily, I step inside and tuck myself behind one of the support beams, any sound I'm making now swallowed among the pneumatic hissing and sliding of machinery as well as the increased hum. A few scientists and lab technicians roam the area, barely acknowledging one another, silently caught up in their work. Desks break up every section of the floor, with countless computer terminals and research materials on top of them, while monitors hang on the walls. This had to be the nexus of all the research I'd been tracking for the past few months. I just needed confirmation that my father is here.

The nearest technician picks up a datapad and buries their head in it while walking away. Seizing the opportunity, I move further into the lab and crouch behind one of the counters. I creep along the length of it and peer round the corner. From my new position, I can make out the side of an incubation tube, reminding me of how I'd first seen Oriana inside that artificial womb all those years ago. Silently, I'd watched that small form, helpless and innocent, unaware of the life that was meant to await her. It was like looking down at myself and realising a chance to make a difference; to let someone else learn from my mistakes. I never gave a second thought to the long-term consequences of that particular act of rebellion. And now, here I was...

Behind me, just beyond the next divider on the left, I notice a small set of steps up to another part of the lab. Doing my best to scout out the surrounding area before leaving my hiding place, I dart across the opening and up onto the higher level. Leading in opposite directions are two more doors at both ends, requiring me to pause and try and get a mental map of the facility. This really is a labyrinth. I'm going to have to be extra cautious if I'm to get to my father and locate Oriana

Taking the door on the left, I encounter an unoccupied terminal and waste no time taking advantage. It's not long before I discover the sheer horror taking place here. My eyes are wide and mouth agape in disbelief. This...this can't be right...

Flicking through the captured footage, almost in a panic, the scenarios look like nightmares but the picture becomes incredibly clear. They're experimenting on people - _lots_ of people - turning them into husks! When I'd learned that Cerberus were looking to combine Reaper tech with implants, I had no idea it would go this far.

As I go searching for a building schematic, I uncover the true evil of this whole operation. This is Sanctuary. Those subjects are refugees. They're tricking and using helpless people caught in the middle of this war!

I can sense a red mist descending, and a burning dryness rises in my throat. Had my control chip work made all this possible? I'm distracted by the impulse to walk back into the lab and shoot everyone I see, not stopping until I run out of targets or thermal clips. That's one way of ending this atrocity.

Wisdom and a familiar voice stop me. On the terminal are logs recorded by my father, talking about 'integration', narrating in a strangely impassive tone as if he doesn't recognise the severity of his actions. He has no idea what line he has crossed. What Cerberus has crossed. I wouldn't say he's acting uncharacteristically, but he's gotten worse in my absence. Much worse. Just as well that I'm here to set him straight...

Though, for now, shutting down this entire operation takes precedence. I need to get the word out and I can't do it while there's something scrambling all communication. Running a diagnostic on the terminal reveals that it's all blocked by the central tower which, fortunately, isn't a million miles from my current position. Only a few scientists and Cerberus troops stand in my way. I prepare a message to be broadcast as soon as my task is complete, trying to get it transmitting to the surface above at the very least, even if that does risk alerting others to my presence. No more innocent lives will be lost today.

Holding my gun in both hands, fully prepared for some sort of reprisal, I make a move back towards the main labs. Then a thought occurs, halting me in my tracks. As far as most believe, I'm aiding Cerberus in some capacity. I don't know exactly what mess I've gotten into thanks to Erin, but it had to be serious enough for John to bring his own hit squad after me. No more vague plans and singular retribution. I need cold hard evidence, and there's plenty of that around. I return to the terminal take a copy of what recordings I can, while trying to keep an eye on both doors.

That done, I exit via the other passageway and scout out another section of the labs. Everything's so uniform, it's far too easy to get lost.

So far, no one appears to be aware I'm here, as I make quick progress around the outskirts of the main area. Reaching the door on the opposite end, I pass through into a similar set-up, only this time with incubation chambers built into the wall on one side. Fortunately, none of them contain 'subjects' and I follow a straight route towards a small office behind a glass screen, snatching a datapad off a desk as I go. Even if the device is empty it's another custom-design for Cerberus and worth holding onto.

Once inside the partition, I copy a few more research logs from the computer and examine the datapad. I strike lucky, gaining access codes to other parts of the facility, with one in particular standing out. The main office, that's where I need to go. If the Illusive Man knows about this project, the lead will be reporting to him.

Tracing the route there bypasses the busier hubs of activity, but it leads me out into the open and across a central processing area where a few people are gathered. Overhead, a hulking piece of machinery like a horizontal elevator, shifts along towards my position. The clunking and hissing I'd heard before was evidently the loading and transporting of those incubators. I wait, considering my options, and decide that hesitating will only lead to more problems. I straighten my hair as best I can and pull the datapad from my belt while concealing my weapons as best I can.

With a natural air of confidence, I pretend to read the device while marching swiftly across, in full view of the scientists. If not the general distractedness, the act and outfit sell it, as none regard me with any suspicion or more than a brief curious glance.

Unfortunately, the facade doesn't hold up beyond that, as I round the corner and lift my vision from the datapad and onto a pair of Cerberus troopers. My expression registers a little too much surprise, my assured gait faltering too noticeably. The men waste no time confirming their hostile intentions, lifting their guns as I fling the datapad directly into the visor of one and dart for cover, my shield ensuring I remain unscathed. The moment would have looked comical if not for the very real threat of death.

Bullets fired in overlapping bursts spray wildly across the environment, pinging, thudding and crashing into walls and equipment. Gasps and panicked screams echo from behind me as the scientists scatter. With the efficiency that comes from a career of combat, I ready my submachine gun and pop out for a brief second, silencing one of my attackers with a well-placed burst right through his helmet. I guess Cerberus never sprang for the kinetic shielding when they engaged in full-scale war...

With the trooper momentarily distracted by the collapse of his colleague, I scramble back into a more tenable position behind one of the incubators. As I'd figured, the glass is bullet-proof at the very least, the next round of my attacker's bullets harmlessly deflected or impacting on the surface in large, effectively superficial cracks.

Peeping through the gaps in the spoiled glass, I spot the soldier craning his neck, gun slightly lowered, looking for me among the mess he's created. I capitalise on this with a quick strafe, firing right at his chest and putting him down for good.

I'm afforded no break to recompose myself, as a larger unit of troopers comes storming in from all sides, tossing smoke grenades and firing wildly in my direction. I barely make it through the closest exit before my shield is overwhelmed.

Beating a hasty retreat, I come to a corridor and hunker down in the most defensible position I can find, behind a pillar roughly twenty feet from either end, unpacking both my weapons ready for use. I try and calm my breathing, vision held intently on the door, waiting for the first wave of attack.

Suddenly, the entire building shakes with an almighty force, causing my spare weapon to rattle on the floor. That does not sound promising...

The tremor renews itself with increased vigour. It repeats again. And again. Becoming louder and closer, like the approach of some gargantuan beast. I crouch back down into cover and listen for a pattern, trying to discern the cause. If it's a bombardment, it sure as hell can't be an Alliance airstrike.

After a short while, and sounds of commotion, the door slides open, smoke billowing into the room. An array of small bright blue dots appear and grow in size until the explanation becomes clear. The group of husks bursts forth in a reckless, murderous sprint towards me.

Reapers. Damn Reapers. Now, of all times!

Having already become well-acquainted with these abominations, I lose no ground to shock, making quick work of them. Any thoughts of what - or who - they used to be, are brushed aside. As their bodies crumple and pile up, more of them stumbling and tripping over the obstruction, my immediate concern is survival. And firepower. I won't last much longer without additional thermal clips. It's safe to say, I did not come prepared for a prolonged battle.

With the smoke dispersing, I can see the corpses of Cerberus soldiers in the next room. No doubt they're becoming as overwhelmed as I am. Any casualties on their side are going to be the best bet for weapons and clips.

The assault ceases temporarily, allowing me time to pick up my own weapons as well as scavenge a rifle, a few clips and a couple of grenades from the massacre. That's all I manage to grab before another swarm of Reaper troops erupts onto the scene, bringing along a new breed of freak. This one a hideous, bulbous creation with a familiar set of four eyes. Like a tumour that grew a batarian. And, much like your average batarian thug in the Terminus, these ones shoot on sight. Of course, they still die all the same.

Remembering the name given to them by the allied forces - cannibals - I don't intend on sticking around to discover how far their diet extends. I fire a few suppressing shots and make a mad dash towards another exit, praying that it's not full of even more of the bastards. If the place is overrun I've got to find a security terminal to lock it down and stop the spread, especially if there are still innocent people on the surface above.

Out in the next section, I can hear sounds of heavy ordnance reverberating through the walls. It keeps a regular rhythm, a triplet of explosions, suggesting that it has the advantage over its foe. Sidling towards the doorway, I open it and pop my head inside. Across the opposite side from me is a four-legged insect-like creature with bulging peach-coloured sacs firing twin cannon into an open corridor, which I cannot see down from here. Brief bursts of gunfire fly back but don't seem to penetrate its curved metallic carapace. This must be a ravager. And it looks even more disgusting than I'd imagined.

With careful timing, I manage to slip by and up a stairwell behind it, which takes me round a corner and into a smaller adjoining area. Straight ahead, I only just notice the other ravager in time, stood there like a guard dog. The pair of blue targeting lasers fix on me instantly, and two quick blasts pulverise my kinetic barrier, knocking me off-balance as I dive for safety behind a pillar. With my back against the surface, the barrage continues; thunderous blasts connecting with the metal strongly enough to shake the pillar and cause me to blink and wince with each one. The Reapers have to be stopped. For all I know, they could be trying to bring the whole building crashing down. Even as my shields recharge, I still can't stay trapped here.

Got to think fast. If the carapace is nigh on impenetrable, what about the underside? Then a thought occurs.

Gathering my cool, I slide down onto my haunches, below the creature's current firing height, and prime one of the grenades. I lean out enough to toss it quickly, sending it rolling along the floor and between the ravager's legs.

Seconds later, there is a loud explosion followed by a gruesome squelching noise as the firing ceases. I poke my head out cautiously to catch sight of the ravager stumbling around as if it were on ice, all its sacs disintegrated, leaving a burned and hollow inside. Eventually, its struggle ends and it topples over into a putrid mess, emitting a foul, acidic stench into the air.

As if I needed any more convincing not to linger, another pack of cannibals and husks pour out of a door to the side. They're right in my path so I have no choice but to engage them. Dipping back into cover, I unpack my pistol and begin picking off the closest targets.

My assault follows a precise and steady rhythm, formed through hours and hours of training, perfectly-timing my shots and intervals of exposure while moving between safe spots. Every time I emerge from a new location, two more of my attackers fall and I withdraw just before the spurts of red hot projectile fire tease my shields into giving way. The lethal sonata continues for a short while until a flurry of grenades provides an unwelcome percussive element.

I only just manage to escape the blast, throwing myself awkwardly over the nearest work surface. Dragging myself up, I recover just in time to catch a husk lunging over the obstruction and right at me. I allow the momentum of its dive to carry me backwards and use that to fling it away into the wall behind me, but not before it gets in a sharp elbow to my head, putting the world out of focus for a second. When it tries to renew its attack, I'm too quick on the trigger.

Cornered and with an explosive complication in play, I acknowledge that desperate action is required. I break from hiding and charge towards the Reaper forces, determined to punch my way through along the most protected route, past desks and pillars. Adrenalin now in full flow, I'm a blur of pinpoint wrath, spitting fire at every face that dares to present itself. The blunt aggression barely startles the cannibals, but then I don't exactly give them the chance to express any sort of reaction. I've been trying to avoid using my biotics so as to conserve energy but circumstances demand it. With a strained cry of effort, I toss aside two cannibals and push ahead.

Right by the far exit, a cannibals lurches out and tackles me, slamming me against the wall so hard I just know I'll be left bruised all down one side of my back. We wrestle for a short spell before tumbling to the ground, its gaping blue jaw and stomach-churning form in full-view as it lands on top of me, pinning one arm and preventing me from retaliating with bullets. During the ensuing struggle, I almost gag when I realise the human face merged in among the patchwork of flesh hanging off the framework of machinery and bone. But the observation sparks a realisation I should've made earlier. If it's been merged with Reaper tech, that means...

As the creatures raises its clawed arm to strike, I hit it with the overload function from my omni-tool, buying me enough time to follow through with a vicious punch square in its face, causing it to recoil and free my armed hand. The bullet tears right through the cannibal's skull and it drops dead, its entire weight landing on top of me. A grimace on my face, I push it aside hastily and continue my escape.

Once I get some breathing space, I consult the miniature map on my omni-tool while listening keenly for any new threats. In the distance there are still rumblings and sounds of chaos, as whatever remains of the Cerberus personnel must be succumbing to the Reaper forces. These labs are becoming more like catacombs every minute, and I don't intend on making them my resting place.

After a lot of careful travel, including the occasional deviation from the quickest course, I reach my destination: the security control room. The code I'd acquired works, and I seal the doors behind me. Now in control of the systems, I record another message and set it to an ambient loop, making it easier to spot should this place ever be uncovered by friendly forces because...well, there's every chance I might not be coming back from this, and at least they'll know what I found. And that I tried my best to stop it.

That done, I use the facility map to plot a route towards the main tower and reactivate whichever doorways I need, patching in a control function on my omni-tool should an emergency arise. Figuratively-speaking, that'll leave me a straight path from here to there, with only a limited amount of resistance from both sides. I'd call it a gauntlet but that would be selling short everything I'd already gone through.

Steeling my nerves, I set to the task. As I pass swiftly through empty corridors and labs, as well as ones where the conflict had quite literally died down, I note that the containment appears to have succeeded.

It's while I'm collecting a few clips and grenades from more dead troopers that I hear the blood-curdling scream echo down the hallways. It's a sound that would haunt you for days afterwards, should you survive what its presence means, and the chill it sends down my spine is enough to paralyse me for a few moments. There's no question as to why they call it a banshee.

Rifle now drawn, I wait and listen. I'm reminded of the last time I was in a Cerberus facility, holding the same make of weapon. Oh, how things had changed. What was months ago felt like years.

An extended period of silence passes, giving me hope that the threat has passed, when the sound of approaching footsteps confirms my worst fears. They're not regular footsteps, they're slow and deliberate, almost plodding, footsteps.

What rounds the corner is a picture of pure malevolence. I'd always admired the beauty of the asari, and this was an absolute corruption of it. An eight-foot tall figure of greyed flesh and machinery, with long, gangly arms that stretch into menacing claws that could rend even armour with great ease, it has shed every bit of its former majesty.

It strides along as if it owns the place, biotic energy crackling all around it, and fixes me with its cold dead eyes before leaning forward to shriek once more. This time, I don't pause, backing up while letting loose with the rifle, pulling the trigger as fast as it will allow. But the banshee doesn't flinch, the entire clip eaten up by its biotic barrier.

As I reload, it swings an arm across the front of its body, sending a massive warp field my way. I spring to the side and behind the closest obstruction just as the ball of energy impacts against it. Despite avoiding the full force, I can feel the destructive field reaching past the pillar, tearing at my shields. This thing is far too dangerous to face head-on.

Darting out, I throw my own warp field back at it and fire a few more shots that still do no good. As it marches ever closer, I begin my slow retreat. Realising my intentions, it utters another sharp scream and gives chase, zig-zagging in a series of short biotic dashes that pop and dissipate.

I run until my lungs feel they could burst, while the creature stalks me at a leisurely pace. I run through the network of corridors and labs that seem much smaller than before, and where every turn feels like it leads to a dead end. I run with a gruesome spectre of death right on my tail, waiting for me to tire and give up. One false move, one misstep and this could all be over.

And I have my work cut out. The facility is in a complete shambles and being careful not to tumble down steps, trip on loops of exposed cables, fall over dislodged flooring panels or slip on scattered lab apparatus takes everything I've got.

But I make it. I arrive at a suitable location inside one of the labs and stop, standing ready to move at a moment's notice. The banshee leans its tall frame into the opening and pulls itself through, traipsing those terrifying hands across the frame. It moves in an eerily slow manner, full of calm murderous intent, as if it's closing in on its cornered prey. I sidestep a couple of yards to put a wide table between us, and fire a few provocative shots from the rifle. Barely three yards in front of me, it responds with a cruel screech that stabs at my eardrums and sets my spine shivering, almost rooting me to the spot in terror.

The next thing I know, it shifts round right beside me but, crucially, not _through_ the table. As it swipes for me with those huge claws, I'm already rolling out of reach and then up into a short dash out the exit. A couple of seconds later, and my omni-tool slams the door shut, putting a nice barrier of thick glass and metal between us. It can manipulate mass effect fields so as to rapidly cover short distances but it damn sure can't go through solid objects.

I let the rifle drop from my grasp and sigh in relief, leaning forward, hands on my thighs, as I draw deep breaths and let my pulse return to normal. Angling my head, I can see the banshee staring out at me through the glass. It makes no attempt to escape and just stands there, exuding the same cold, curious malice. Giving it no further attention, I retrieve the rifle and prepare to make my way back on-track.

A faint rumbling sound draws me into the next room, where one of the sealed doors is being pounded by some unknown creature on the other side. Seems my plan is working.

My attention is caught by another terminal I'd missed when circumventing the hotspots of fighting, on which are research notes that help make sense - for want of a better word - of what has been transpiring here.

There was a larger plan at work beyond converting people into Reaper thralls. Cerberus was reverse-engineering indoctrination, looking for a way to harness that power in order to control the Reapers as well as an army of augmented refugees. And this was not just some rogue cell, this was my father's work under the Illusive Man's instruction.

It's as I'd feared after we defeated the Collectors. The technology had been too tempting to just study it. It begged to be _used_. The Illusive Man had been content to march over graves in the name of progress, sacrificing too much in search of power.

I'd always suspected that he might go too far in pursuit of furthering humanity, and all I did was turn a blind eye. Lines had been crossed in the name of Cerberus, but I'd rationalised and redrawn them just that little bit further along. _Everything has its own cost_, I'd told myself. _You can't make an omelette without breaking a few eggs_, so the saying goes. I was never directly responsible, after all.

And Cerberus had done great things. Things people had considered impossible. We brought a man back from the dead! And not just any man: Commander Shepard. We defeated the Collectors, prevented them unleashing another Reaper on the galaxy. I witnessed these accomplishments. I made them possible. There were clear, admirable goals to strive for each and every day. Yet here I was, standing inside the galaxy's biggest atrocity next to the Reapers.

I pace backwards and forwards, mulling over all these uncomfortable discoveries. My mouth is as dry as a desert, and my throat burns every time I swallow. I feel like I could throw up. Not that I've got anything to give.

I shouldn't have stood by. Deep down, I knew what was happening but had tried to deny it. Once again, I'd be running from the truth. From my father, from Cerberus. No matter how much I try to distance myself, put up walls, something will always drag me in. I'm part of this war whether I like it or not. It's time to start fighting back and taking control.

The first step is reaching my father and finding out where he's keeping Oriana. Then, with the intel on those shipments of indoctrinated refugees, I should be able to unearth the Illusive Man's current location. Handing that over to the Alliance ought to deal a great blow to Cerberus and, hopefully, clear my name. After that? Well, I always have a plan...

Full of determination, I record another message, detailing my find, and turn back to continue my mission. A sudden surge of power through the building startles and gives me pause. Before I can consider what's happened, the main passage doors slide open and a ferocious snort replaces the relentless pounding. It never gets any easier...

I whirl round and get a good look at the hulking creature - a 'brute' - as it prepares to charge. It's a curious mix of turian and krogan without really resembling either. Then again, I've never encountered a species with an external ribcage, protruding between its shoulders. Courtesy of Reaper manipulation, the frame has been made taller and bulkier than a krogan, and it sports only the top half of a turian head upon an extended robotic spine. Despite the combination, the end result is more than twice as ugly as either constituent species. Quite laudable, really.

It's the heavy plates of armour and an intimidating metal claw that convince me running, in the quite literal sense, is my best option right now.

And so I flee, with the brute hot on my heels, clattering and bashing against everything in its narrow path. I pass the trapped Banshee, grateful that it appears only the main passage doors had been affected. Quicker round the corners and through the tighter spaces, I cover enough ground to prepare a counter-attack. I climb a set of steps and take refuge behind a wall, where I slip a grenade from my belt.

As soon as the creature lumbers into my line of sight, I hit it with a warp field that confuses and aggravates it. Without delay, I aim a gentle lob of the grenade right onto the opening in its back.

The resulting explosion blows a large part of the shielding on its claw-arm clean off, exposing the desiccated, purplish-brown flesh underneath. Other than that, the brute appears barely harmed, and roars at me, now it has a fix on my whereabouts. I answer back with a full clip from the Mattock, focusing most of my fire on the arm. As each bullet punctures the softer tissue, marking it with large gashes, the brute flinches, if only briefly. Part of me was hoping for better.

Its eyes glow red with rage as it staggers violently forward but, curiously, it's moving much slower now. Then I notice it's struggling with the deadened arm, burdened by the weight of it. I guess the ploy did work. I must have severed a connection somewhere. As it tries to drag itself round the desks and up the stairs, getting snagged on most of it, I start backing away, always just out of its reach, and unload round after round into its unprotected areas.

Seeing the goliath begin to suffer with every shot, unable to strike back, brings me a dark satisfaction I haven't felt in a long time, and its pained dying groan fills me with a strange sense of elation. I guess you take the small victories where you can. Bristling with confidence, I'd issue a challenge to the Reapers, telling them to throw everything they've got at me if I weren't already in over my head as it is.

Getting back on course now that someone - or something - had disabled a significant amount of the door locks is a fraught venture, as I make slow progress once again. Systematically, I retrace my steps through the dark metal labyrinth, increasingly aware of the blue blinking lights on seemingly every piece of equipment; my strained eyes tricking me into perceiving them as Reaper forces each time they enter my peripheral vision. I tiptoe round every corner and through every doorway, making sure the coast is clear before rushing to manually shut any doors once my omni-tool is within range. Combat is kept to a minimum, with only a few husks reacting quickly enough to put up a short-lived resistance.

Finally, I ascend an access ladder up onto the next level and enter a central lab that stretches far and high as well as branching off into smaller side ones visible through the glass. With brighter lights reflecting off white surfaces, everything here already looks a little more pristine and free of conflict. Approaching slowly, I step up to the left-hand side rather than walk straight down the centre where it's especially exposed. I watch and listen for Reapers among the multitude of pillars but find none.

What I find instead is just as bad.

As I approach a desk on which I've spotted a datapad, the dark figure makes its move. It leaps from the shadows above, a sword thrusting downwards, the blade glinting at me. I only notice their presence in the nick of time, making a desperate and clumsy dive out of the way.

They try to rush in and finish me off, but my reactions are too keen. I roll away from their next strike and pull out my gun, forcing them to back away while allowing me to get a better look .

Kai Leng.

He smiles at me nastily, letting his sword arm rest at his side. "Finally, our paths cross."

I get back on my feet, weapon trained on him, my face twisted with loathing. If my gaze could pierce armour, he'd already be dead.

"I've been looking forward to it."

* * *

**A/N: I am so sorry for taking ages to update (over a month!). This was a tough chapter to write but I'm hoping it turned out OK. You may have noticed how uncharacteristically long it is...and it doesn't even cover the whole thing!**

**Once again, a big thanks to you guys for your continued support! I appreciate every single review and piece of feedback. They are most helpful.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

Before Cerberus' bold attack on the Citadel, the last I'd heard of Kai Leng was that he'd run foul of the Alliance's Captain Anderson at the Grissom Academy, receiving some grievous injuries for his troubles. If only that were the end of him...

Yet, here he was, looking able-bodied as ever, if not more so. Cutting an imposing figure and clad entirely in black, he looks like a panther ready to pounce.

But he doesn't. He hisses instead. "Pity I've spoiled what would have been a touching family reunion."

He's perfectly aware how much the statement would pique my curiosity, but nothing in my expression will allow him the satisfaction. I'm intrigued by what he meant, but I can be patient; I know he won't be able to resist spilling the rest. If he thinks I'll flinch at every twist of the knife, he is sorely mistaken.

"Couldn't be helped," I offer. "Your appearance alone spoils any occasion."

The white ovals of his eyes shining through that black mask remain fixed on mine, while the rest of his face stretches into an ugly sneer. "Ah, good to see you haven't lost that cutting wit."He darts to one side and disappears with the aid of a cloaking device. _"But it won't save you."_

I back away towards one wall, cutting down his possible routes of attack. Under the brighter spotlights, he should be easier to track. I just hope my reflexes are a little sharper than that sword.

_Who in this day and age carries a sword?_

Well, for one, it's certainly a distraction, I concede as I snap out of my momentary musing. Something moves in the periphery of my vision, and I try to follow it but wind up staring at another pillar.

If he closes in, he has the advantage. I have years of combat experience, yet almost none of it involving a sword-wielding assailant. For close-quarters combat with someone like Kai Leng, I imagine the rules of engagement would be similar to those regarding krogan: _don't_.

Any attack with a sword should be slow enough to bypass kinetic barriers, meaning there's not much I can do to stop Kai Leng, beyond outright disarming him. Which, in most cases, involves getting in close...

On the other hand, quite literally, he's using a weaker weapon: a palm blaster. It's powerful enough, but it's design omits thermal clips, making it slower at venting the heat it generates. After the steps I've gone to upgrade the multicapacitor on my shields, and provided I don't leave myself too exposed, he should struggle to breach them with projectile fire.

I begin side-stepping slowly along the perimeter, staying on my toes, ready to alter direction should the need arise. Above the electronic ambience here, I can't discern any footsteps or other sounds of movement that would alert me to his location. Fortunately for me, he can't resist demonstrating his own arrogance.

"You're a burnout, Lawson," he asserts, using the surname like a slur. The voice seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "I'm surprised it took a full twenty years before your nervous breakdown. You always were weak."

I'm still not taking the bait, just letting the words wash over me. It's no use arguing the finer points, not with Kai Leng.

I keep moving, making my way towards the nearest open side exit and the simplicity of a straight hallway. Narrowing the field of attack is a must. Stepping into the open, I catch sight of his hazy figure stalking towards me. I send a few shots his way that spark off his shields before he dips behind cover. A hand re-emerges and fires back, the blast more powerful than expected, downing my shields enough that I'm forced back into shelter. The doorway is tantalisingly close but still far enough that the risk is too great, especially if I've underestimated his weapon's recovery speed as well.

"Don't run, Lawson. I promise to make it quick," he taunts. "Just like I did for Henry and Oriana."

If the blast didn't stop me in my tracks, those words might have. Oriana is here as well? It _must_ be a lie. I shouldn't linger, not in this state, but I need to know more. Forget trying to escape. It's time to join this fight.

Signalling my willingness to engage in the verbal jousting, I answer back. "Playing executioner for the Illusive Man, I see. About the only possible role for a blunt instrument like yourself. And dismantling your own operation, one body at a time? Clever."

He chuckles as if guarding a fatal secret. "We're only eliminating the redundant parts. Your father took an early retirement, and it's about time you did too."

"The Illusive Man already conducted my exit interview," I fire back. "A lot of his men died that day." A multitude of thoughts rush about inside my head. Chief among them that he doesn't sound genuine—my father could be left to the Reapers, after all—yet there must be a reason he's here. "Looks like he sent you here to die as well. Wise move. I shouldn't imagine you're of use to him anymore."

"Oh, I think he'll be perfectly pleased with what I have."

Then it clicks. The research data! That's why he's here. He's nothing but an errand boy, and he's the one who reopened those doors after I'd sealed them. While I was dealing with the Reapers, he'd made it all the way to the main tower control room, unhindered. If he's seen my father and Oriana...

I've already become too distracted, as Kai Leng has stolen close enough to take another shot at me, whirling into view with a flamboyant, athletic grace. _Like a ballerina_, chimes an absurd voice in the back of my head. My shield takes the hit as I manoeuvre back round to face him. If he has that data, I can't let him escape. I _won't_ let him escape.

Carefully, I take a wide trajectory towards where I'd last seen him, in the hope of flanking him. The room falls silent for a few minutes. No taunting, no footsteps, no gunfire. It feels like hunting a shadow, only with the knowledge that absolute chaos could erupt at any moment and, if I'm not prepared, end all too briefly. I'd prefer to keep my distance, but it looks like I'll have to play on his terms.

Eventually, he makes a move, lunging at me with his sword arcing down at my right, threatening to sever my arm. Fortunately, my balance aids my reflexes as I manage to lean enough on my back foot to avoid the attack while pushing forward and catching him in the face with a left hook. Before the sensation of my knuckles connecting with his cheek can fade, I follow with a middle-kick, forcing him and that sword out of range. While the blow doesn't harm him, it does allow me a second to bring my own weapon to bear.

He activates his cloak once more and backs off behind one of the pillars, both of us having sized up the other in that short exchange. His body armour makes him slower than me, but it does mean body blows are unfeasible. I've got to minimise all contact, dodging and countering without missing a beat, and hope that the mask mars his peripheral vision enough to give me an advantage.

Making an estimate as to where he'd be, I swing round a corner and catch him off-guard with my omni-tool. The burst of the overload is wide enough to affect his shields, exposing his armour to a few bullets and eliciting a groan of frustration from him.

Good. It's quite clear that Kai Leng is as quick-tempered as he is arrogant. Lighting that short fuse could work in my favour.

"I thought this was supposed to be quick, Leng. I have places to be."

"Shut up, Lawson," he snarls back, voice tinged with aggravation.

If I can keep this up, his huffing and puffing alone will make sure he stays easily detectable.

It's not long before our next encounter. He bolts towards me, using an extra shielding device on his arm to withstand the gunfire, before driving the sword low with his full weight behind it. He's expecting me to plant my feet, bracing for a counter. It's a ploy. The approach is telegraphed, too obvious; Kai Leng could never be that predictable. Whatever attack he's going to segue into - and there are a few possibilities - I probably won't spot it until the last second. The countless sessions on circular footwork echo in my head. _Spine straight, arms lowered, metatarsals only._ If only I'd worn better boots...

As I'd feared, he makes a minor adjustment, sneaking in one small step to disrupt the rhythm while twisting his grip and slicing upwards, straight towards my face. It all happens so fast that pure instinct takes over; my preparedness having only ensured I stay light on my feet. I notice a flash across my vision and a flutter of my hair as the blade whistles past, only then aware that I'd done enough.

As soon as the weapon finishes its trajectory, I close in at his side, locking an arm round Kai Leng's elbow from underneath so that his limb straightens and keeps the blade at bay. He raises the other hand and fires the palm blaster, the shot flying above my head as I swing him into the closest wall, the back of his head thudding violently against the metal panelling. I'd try to throw him but I need a far better stance to pull it off; an opportunity I'm not sure I'll get.

In the struggle, he manages to switch the sword into his free hand and aim it towards me. Forced to release my grip, I withdraw backwards and fire a few more rounds at him. The confrontation takes another pause as we both retreat. Only then do I notice the sting on my right cheek, my hand going to the wound and finding blood. Evading the sword during the initial clash must not have been as clean a movement as I thought. The cut appears superficial, but it's a blatant reminder that there is no room for mistakes. Be a little slow, be a little late, just once, and I'm done. I may need to adjust my tactics, but one thing's certain: I need to get rid of that damn sword.

A familiar but unwanted scream echoes from somewhere in the distance, reawakening the chill in my bones and momentarily freezing me to the spot. Another banshee searching for prey, no doubt. Not an immediate threat anyway. _Eyes on the target, Miranda_.

I try to re-establish Kai Leng's whereabouts, but he's already gone. That bastard better not be trying to escape from me.

I begin a taunt. "Leng, I knew-"

An invisible blow to the stomach cuts me off. A foot. From round the corner, judging by the angle. I'm pushed backwards, ready for the follow-up, as Kai Leng's full-form materialises. He thrusts the sword, I slide back and hit him with another overload from my omni-tool.

When he doesn't back down, I try to take advantage of his dropped shields and riddle him with bullets, but he's too fast. He rolls clear and finds his footing quickly, aiming to sweep my legs with the blade. Once again, where regular human reaction speeds wouldn't have sufficed, mine do. With my leading foot, I meet the blade from the outside and redirect it towards the closest pillar, where it connects in a muted clang. Bowed slightly and looking languid, Kai Leng's next move is unexpected.

Leaving his sword hanging idly across his front, he springs forward, driving his shoulder right into my chest and knocking me to the ground, where the thud of my head and back against the steel renews the injuries from my earlier bout with a cannibal. Acting fast to prevent being skewered against the floor, I straighten my arms and fire blindly in his direction. The rapid spray of bullets tearing at shields, and the crunch of a few embedding themselves in armour, followed by a snarl is music to my ears. I lean up enough to spy him activating his cloak and slinking back into cover, having abandoned that approach.

I scramble upright and scan the area, swivelling on my feet to get a full picture. The room looks larger than before, the support beams seeming to multiply so as to obscure the exits. And Kai Leng. Trying to recall the course the fight had taken, I head back towards my original position. I don't get far before Kai Leng's upon me once more, attacking from my left side, the blade swooping high and fast. I'm mid-turn, ready to retaliate, when it catches my own weapon, slicing a clean angle through the barrel just short of the trigger guard. Rather than waste time considering the near miss, I make the most of the situation, hurling my fist at Kai Leng's face, the useless hunk of metal clenched tight between my fingers.

It's a foolish move, the makeshift weapon striking mask instead of face, and enabling Kai Leng to land a solid kick on my side. Although the thin ablative armour padding in my suit can withstand most forms of physical assault, it does little to soften the impact of such a powerful force. I struggle to stifle the pained gasp, instead gritting my teeth and disguising it as exertion from my next wild swing with the other fist. This time, the approach is more successful, knuckle connecting with cheekbone and staggering him for a couple of steps. The satisfied grin that sat on his face moments ago, gone in an instant.

Kai Leng regains his balance, and that sword comes round for another swing. I duck under, perfectly timing an overload burst. It's a solid move, sapping his shields entirely, but I've got no workable weapon with which to follow up. I deliver a strong, high kick to his head and use the opening to make a quick switch, tossing the defunct gun aside and unpacking my pistol; completing the action with practised precision as I swivel round into cover.

A little distance back and retreating further into cover, Kai Leng calls out with a barely laboured breath, "So, the little princess knows how to play rough."

"You and I both know I'm far from a princess." Even when the name might have been appropriate, my father certainly never referred to me as such. _Focus, Miranda. Put your mind on the task._

"You're just as stuck-up." His expression twists back into that nasty smile. "And delicate."

With that, we resume our confrontation, now operating under some unspoken yet understood contract, neither of us contemplating escape. Bound to face one another until someone falters. We step out to face one another, and find ourselves standing roughly twenty feet apart, poised to spar, a clear stretch of floor between us.

A faint rumble reaches us from below, the overhead lights flickering in response, some staying off while others dim. It would seem, deliberately or not, that the Reapers are disabling the power, fortunately only affecting the lighting thus far. Ignoring it, Kai Leng begins his charge, compact hand-shield out front. I take careful aim at his legs instead, picking away at his main shields until he diverts to one side and out of sight.

Sidestepping and circling round, I attempt to keep him at my front side while deftly loading another thermal clip into the pistol and returning it to a level position in both hands. The only indication of his next advance is a sharp grunt of effort as he lunges from my right with another swipe of his blade, missing me by a good few inches.

I'm too late realising it's a feint, and he capitalises. While I'm caught on the back foot, my recoiling arms held high, he launches his own kick, given time to drive it hard into my mid-section from the side before closing in to finish with a swift boot that soars upwards as I'm doubled over, heading downwards. Sparing my head the blow, I tilt enough so that my left shoulder takes the brunt of it. The force pitches me upwards as I lurch to the right and across to his left side, grabbing at his sword arm as I go. I twist with the forward momentum, clutching his forearm and stabilising myself so that we're almost side-by-side, facing the same direction. From this position, I cross my right arm over his left and jab my elbow into his jaw a couple of times. Full of rage, Kai Leng heaves backwards, lifting my whole weight up and into the sharp corner of the closest pillar. I swallow the agonised groan and channel my own fury into a rapid series of further elbow jabs that ends our temporary grapple, leaving us both reeling and stumbling apart.

The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth and the next few gasps of breath don't come easy, accompanied by a brief spell of dizziness that is clearly not a good sign. Just feet away, Kai Leng is recovered and resetting his mask. Along with being far stronger than should be possible, he's got the endurance to match it. It's pretty clear he's been enhanced by Reaper tech, just like the many Cerberus soldiers created here. If this is going to be a knock-down drag-out fight, I can't see myself as the victor.

There's no chance to walk away now, and no time to rethink my strategy, as Kai Leng presses the attack again. Too much effort is expended having to spot the deception before bobbing and weaving or deflecting each sweep of his blade, which lets him land a few minor strikes here and there; armour winning out over padding and flesh. Aware of that advantage, he's started using knees and elbows as well as his fists and feet. Even a blocked strike exacts a new bruise or spot of tenderness, and I give up trying to mask the toll it's taking.

We go a few more rounds, in which I manage a string of well-placed punches, all to no avail. And my attempts to keep Kai Leng at bay are faltering, broken by his disregard for the minimal harm I can cause. He knows that I can't be allowed the slightest opportunity to use my weapon or omni-tool, much like I'm careful to remain on the safe side of that sword's every cut, jab and thrust.

Soon, my exhaustion leads to the first mistake: a lazily-executed drop of the right arm that shortens a sidestep and puts me off-kilter. Kai Leng is too good not to exploit it, pivoting in response and hitting confidently at my shoulder then forearm.

The gun flies from my hand and ricochets off a beam before skittering across the floor and out of sight. I waste no time looking to retrieve it, already preoccupied with another glinting object, soundless yet screaming for attention. Steadying myself in a crouch, the blade sails by harmlessly and I launch myself at Kai Leng.

A grave error.

My back foot doesn't lift as much as it should, scraping along the floor half a second too long, and propelling the uppercut off its intended course, missing chin and grazing cheek. Kai Leng pitches slightly and twirls as I continue past, committed to the folly for another step. An open hand finds my back, pushing me a little further and I feel my heart stop as I dread what is sure to follow. I'm facing the wrong way and unable to prevent it.

The sharp point of the blade plunges squarely into my back, lethally sure, an inhuman amount of power behind it.

A crack, as something splits.

I topple forwards and skid to a halt on my side, afraid to look down at my midriff.

Something's not quite right.

There's an almost inaudible pop and then my shields fizzle out. Finally, I remember to breathe, taking a lungful of air.

He's disabled the power unit housed in-between my shoulder blades, nothing more. I'm alive. Being without a shield is not an ideal situation, but I should be grateful for small mercies, I guess.

Falling back on my biotic training, I summon a personal barrier. It's not ideal, putting a mild strain on an already half-exhausted body, but I won't survive without one.

Kai Leng's shadow begins to creep over me, as I get up and face him. He's standing ready, body tensed like a coiled spring. The malicious smile on his face and a cocky crack of his neck suggests he thinks he has me beat, and I'm inclined to agree. Though, I seem to recall a certain banshee that thought it had me cornered. I think this situation calls for unorthodox tactics as well.

"What are you waiting for? Finish the job," I provoke him, voice low and steeped in contempt.

He obliges, discarding any notion of finesse as he makes his move. I knew I could rely on his arrogance. If I move swiftly enough, I have him with his feet planted too firmly to react, especially to a surprise gambit such as this.

Springing to action, I intercept the wrist of his sword arm with my right hand and grab the blade in my left. Lead by desperation, it's not the wisest decision - and certainly not a taught sword-taking technique - but it does the trick.

The padding in the glove, plus the framework of my omni-tool, prevents the sharp edge from cutting right through, and gives me enough time to achieve my goal. Yanking with both arms, I redirect the sword towards his other hand, slashing firmly across the blaster on his palm. Sparks shoot from the internal circuitry, forming a bright fountain between our grimacing faces before the device's power dies. Phase one: complete. Now for phase two.

Spinning with Kai Leng in tow, close enough to feel the touch of his agitated breath, I switch to a double-handed grip on his wrist and get my shoulder underneath the arm. This gives me enough leverage to push off my back foot, hurling him over and to the ground. A firm stamp on his wrist releases his hold on the sword, which I flick with my foot, sending it skidding rapidly away to clatter against some distant surface.

I made a mess of my glove and likely damaged my omni-tool but, for all intents and purposes, phase two: complete.

Kai Leng regains his composure, swinging his legs round while contorting his body to launch himself upright. Having predicted the manoeuvre - Kai Leng being the show-off that he is - I'm at a safe enough distance that his attempt to simultaneously trip me fails.

"Come on, princess," I tease. "Show me you can play rough."

He never gets the chance, as blue targeting lasers cut across the space between us. Already aware of what it must be, I'm able to back away behind a pillar in the nick of time. Kai Leng is just as fast, going the opposite way while accelerating into a retreat towards an exit at the back of the room.

He is not escaping, not with that data!

Coming from the left, the ravager's explosive cannon fire zips across in front of me, temporarily preventing my pursuit. Once it ceases, I bolt through, glancing in the creature's direction to see a swarm of husks and cannibals spreading into the room from the same doorway. Now beginning to sprint, my footsteps pound against the metal, steadily increasing in speed, like a primitive machine jerking to life. My bruised and tired legs seem on the verge of cramping, but I push the sensation from my mind as best I can. _No stopping now._

Kai Leng's dark form clears the exit. I follow seconds later, but he's still out of reach and getting further. Presumably under the impression he's clear of detection, he activates his cloak. However, as long as he's in motion, the field's distortion is noticeable enough for me to be able to track him. I just need to keep up...

Ahead of him, the hallway leads out to a walkway, as a familiar clunking and humming of colossal machinery grows louder. We must be above and fast approaching one of the incubation labs and its giant transporter. Reaching the end of the straight, the chamber stretches out in all directions; the ceiling getting higher and a wide drop off to one side. I continue along the narrow walkway at breakneck speed while Kai Leng pauses to take a quick glance around him, seemingly trying to disappear into the scenery or gather his bearings. Unconcerned with that triviality at this current moment, I fly towards him with everything I have, as he makes to run once more.

We collide so hard that what little breath I have bursts from my lungs in a groan. The force carries us both into the guard-rail and then toppling right over it, falling towards the floor roughly twenty feet below. It's not a clean descent either, both of us clashing with ventilation and other fixtures, becoming separated before we hit the ground in a sickening smack.

Forgetting the urgency of my predicament among the dull throbbing pain that is my body, I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, a spotlight high above shimmering in the periphery of my vision. In my momentary haze, I hear waves breaking on a beach and a gentle female voice calling my name, asking me if I'm all right. The memory is familiar but the sentiment is not. I reach out to clutch sand but find cold, hard steel. The waves hasten into pneumatic hissing, and the spotlight no longer seems to radiate warmth or even that much light. _Miranda, sweetie, you can't outrun your problems._

I'm not running, I'm...

_Kai Leng!_

Jolting upright, I'm in time to spot him dragging himself up off the floor, looking almost as dazed as I am. A quick appraisal tells me that nothing's broken - my biotic barrier having offered some protection during the fall - so I bring myself to a kneel before rushing at Kai Leng once more.

Our first movements are clumsy, neither of us able to significantly overpower the other, both tumbling and bashing against any and everything in our path. Like two slow dancers determined to keep the music going inside their own heads even as the world crumbles around them. The blows we inflict on one another are sluggish, and his become lost to the hollow numbness rapidly spreading from my core. Gradually, our struggle takes us in among the research stations, hands grasping for balance against desks and equipment every time we part, before hurling ourselves back into the fray.

With a deafening cry of exertion that echoes through the cavernous lower lab and connecting hallways, I plant a strong backfist across Kai Leng's face, ignoring the ache shooting down my arm in response. He lurches backwards a few steps and then, in an explosion of rage loud enough to match mine, ploughs into me like a battering ram.

I turn with the impact, crashing into and vaulting over a desk. It would have been an impressive display of athleticism had the whole manoeuvre not been performed face-first. I land awkwardly, curled against the desk behind and blink a few times to regain focus.

I'm not going to win this, and if we carry on then we'll both fall victim to the Reapers. Then a plan forms. Rather than try and track my father, what if I use the device on Leng? Our earlier 'chat' would indicate that he has orders to head right to the Illusive Man. That information has to be valuable and could even put an end to the greater conflict; personal grievances be damned. Plus, it would go a long way towards placating 'John', if not the Alliance brass. The only real downside is that it does strongly rely on me surviving this whole ordeal or at least unblocking communications long enough to pass it on.

Slipping the tracer from my belt, I keep it pinched between my fingers, ready to deploy in an instant. Now to try and get behind Kai Leng...

I grip the desk with both hands and yank myself up to see him already beating a retreat once more.

Forcing my ragged breath through gritted teeth, I call after him, "Finish the job, coward."

That does the job. His chest swells and rises with an infuriated intake of air before he begins marching back towards me. I feign the appearance of barely being able to stand - an impression undeniably easy to give at this present moment - as I pull myself round the table.

Kai Leng wastes no time in striking, leading with a half-hearted left jab that is meant to confuse in order to set up a big right hook. Wise to the move already, and with a swiftness he couldn't anticipate, I slip to one side while taking hold of his arm. Twisting it behind his back, I lean enough to smash his face into hard surface of the desk, while using my other hand to attach the tracer under one of his coat-tails. He wrestles free, shoving his elbow into my stomach and pushing me away with a back-kick.

I right myself quickly and remain where I am, fixing Kai Leng with a hard look that tells him I'm in this until the bitter end. I have to sell the deception after all; simply letting him walk would be too suspicious. Of course, I need to make sure I'm able to walk away from this as well.

Kai Leng shakes his head in amused disbelief. "You're a glutton for punishment."

"What if I told you I enjoyed your company?" A dry laugh like a cough escapes my throat.

The scuffle continues with a chaotic to and fro, my biotics able to soften some blows at the cost of my fast-waning stamina. Gradually, I'm switching almost exclusively to defending myself from the series of blows being rained down by Kai Leng. If there were ropes, I would be on them, becoming well acquainted, I imagine. My legs plead with me to just give up, to let me collapse to the floor and take whatever's coming.

Fortunately, I manage to hold out long enough for another interruption. Though, considering what has shown up, this could be a case of 'out of the fire...'

We're fighting so intensely and single-mindedly that at first we don't notice the asari monstrosity that has silently stalked into the labs. Its shriek is enough to grab our attention and break us apart, though not before Kai Leng seizes the chance to deliver a final blow that has me seeing my belt and then the floor.

While I'm getting back on my feet, Kai Leng makes himself scarce with a lightning efficiency and a disappointing lack of smug parting words. That's all right. We'll see each other again soon enough, I hope. I'm reminded of an old joke about not having to outrun a bear... Guess I'm the slower target.

Ensuring I've got my barrier up, I turn to face the banshee, its absurdly long arms fixed at its side, approaching slowly as if compelled by little more than programmed malevolence.

It flings another of those devastating warp fields my way, and I'm too slow to completely avoid it as I scurry for protection, the wide blast latching on far better than I've seen from normal biotics. While staying behind cover, sheer will is just enough to maintain my barrier until the harmful effect dissipates.

I'm pinned down here and it'll be tricky to make it across the opening with the power the banshee is packing. An old theory of mine comes to mind, one I've never had the opportunity to test. Another unorthodox combat technique. I suppose I've got nothing to lose...

As soon as I reappear, the banshee's gaze snaps to my position. It sweeps a hand through the air, conjuring another ball of energy, at which I hurl my own surge of biotic power in immediate response. They meet a moment later, with my modest effort managing to destabilise the field, causing an explosive discharge of dark energy accompanied by an almighty sonic boom that even I can feel reverberating through the air. Much to my satisfaction, the blast is so large that it engulfs the recoiling creature, scattering nearby lab equipment in the process.

Although it doesn't appear to do any real harm to the banshee, the result of my experiment catches it completely by surprise and enables me to escape while it's still recovering its own barrier in a flashy display of blue light. Fleeing as fast as my legs will allow, I'm already halfway down the connecting passage when I hear it shrilly vocalising what I can only imagine is immense dissatisfaction. And just like my last run-in with a corrupted asari, I find myself sprinting down corridor after corridor, my heart racing and head throbbing, paying no mind to following a set course, only searching for a safe place to hide until I can collect my thoughts. A safe place in Sanctuary? Ha!

_Focus, Miranda_!

I know I can make it to that control tower, I'm so close. I _was_ so close. I just need to access the map stored on my omni-tool and I can...

The orange display flickers on and off, stretching, crackling, shrinking and growing. A few presses on the constantly distorting interface suggests that it's just about functional, if intermittently responsive. _This is why you don't go grabbing the business end of swords._ With a little patience, I get the map to show long enough for me to plot a new course to my destination.

Every few steps, I'm checking over my shoulder, primarily to make sure I'd lost the banshee but also concerned that an overwhelming rush of Reaper thralls could bear down on me at any moment, the faint noises of conflict reaching me from all directions. The anxiety is not helped by the unreliability of my omni-tool when it comes to unlocking doors, requiring some hurried tapping to get the protocols to activate.

Passing half a platoon of Cerberus corpses, their armour if not their bodies either blasted, pierced or ripped to shreds, I scavenge another couple of grenades and a rifle; some of the few pieces of equipment still intact. The atmosphere reeks of death and destruction and I find myself becoming nauseous the deeper I go.

Thankfully, the horror abates once I'm back on the upper level via another route. The cool air here comes as a relief on my warm skin, perspiration seeping through every pore from the toll of maintaining my barrier. _Not much farther..._

A small group of husks and cannibals roaming the area finds me, but none of them can tolerate a few rounds from the mattock, making for a brief skirmish that I manage to contain after fussing with the door lock systems a little more. My omni-tool appears to be losing power if not full functionality. I just need it to hold out a little longer. _Not much farther..._

With just one door and one large hall between myself and the access elevator, my heart sinks. While scouting the connecting labs to take advantage of the view offered by their large windows, I spot a couple of brutes and a banshee trying in vain to breach the door through to the control tower's elevator. The route from my current position would otherwise be straightforward: into the middle then head left for roughly sixty feet. I can do this. Just lure them away and dash to the door. Couldn't be simpler...

And so, after a little trouble with the door, I put the plan into action. Stepping onto the first, slightly-higher section, I throw a grenade towards the group, and rush dead ahead down the small set of steps and across the central pathway. The explosion earns their ire while I remain in the open long enough to earn their attention. The brutes are the first to move, their hulking forms unable to fit side-by-side; something I can use to my advantage.

I take a few pot-shots at them with the rifle while retreating along the middle, then take cover behind one of the support dividers on the elevator side of the hall. Peering round from there, I can make out one of the creatures splitting off from the other and following the right approach, onto the raised floor the opposite side to where I entered. The other continues down the centre, with the banshee close behind.

After a few deep breaths to try and steady my racing pulse, I lean round and fire at the solitary brute. Enraged, it roars and charges, finishing so close to my position that I don't dare glance round again. With that one drawn in, and before it can quite catch me, I run back across the centre and to the large beam opposite.

Instead of taking shelter, I keep going round and up the left walkway, looking to pass the other two and make the small drop back onto the middle pathway. A quiet panic builds inside me, as I become aware that I'm not moving as fast as I'd like or _need_ to. _Come on, Miranda. Not much farther!_

The banshee's wise to my intentions, using its biotics to shoot across to intercept me at the next partition. With that obstruction between us, I dip to the right, prematurely altering my course back into the centre and right past the front of the other gigantic, clawed beast. I carry on over to the right side and rush along to the next divider, looping round that to complete a wide slalom while hoping I've avoided attracting the first brute back up here. Now it's just a matter of outrunning the other one...

As soon as I'm back in the open, the snorting beast has me in its sights, slowly turning to track my movement with glowing red eyes. Fortunately, this has left the banshee stuck behind it with no direct way to reach or attack me. I discard the rifle and put everything into making this last sprint, ignoring the dull ache in my legs. I'm almost at the final set of steps when a brief glance reveals the brute giving pursuit, sparks flying as its oversized arm scrapes along the floor after it; the sound far worse than nails on a chalkboard.

I make it up to the area adjoining the elevator but another glimpse over my shoulder catches the brute at my heels. Weighed down by fatigue, I'm too slow to neatly evade the swing of its arm. The claws glance off my barrier harmlessly, but the impact increases my forward momentum so that I'm tossed over the row of computers directly in front, with my flight cut short by the wall beyond.

Red spots float across my vision, refusing to leave despite furious blinking. Now on my left, I can just about make out the final door.

_Not much farther..._

A shadow looms over me, the brute clambering onto the desk of computers, ready to put me down for good. It lunges forward, leading with its claw arm. I make a feeble attempt to leap away from a crouched stance, instead slipping and landing flat on the floor. To my amazement, the blow sails over me, the creature's claw arm becoming stuck in the wall between the glowing blue XTX servers. As it struggles to free itself, I don't waste a moment to consider my luck, stumbling towards my destination.

_Not much...farther..._

Preoccupied with ensuring my omni-tool is primed to open the door, I trip on a large coil of wire I'd forgotten was there. I crash to my knees but continue to stagger onwards, noticing the banshee approaching the steps to my right.

_Not...much...farther..._

Back on my feet but nearly doubled over and off-balance, the door appearing to sway in front of me, I burst forwards and slam into the surface with my right shoulder. I begin frantically trying to activate the omni-tool while awkwardly propped against the door.

_Not much fa...not m..._

The banshee strides closer while I can hear the brute successfully yank its arm from the wall with a screech of sheared metal. My lids grow heavy and my legs just about surrender when, in a discordantly genial tone, a recorded female voice announces three magical words.

_'Tower access: granted.'_

The doors slide apart and I fall backwards through the opening. Hitting the ground, suddenly alert, I scramble enough to clear the threshold and dive at the button on the far wall. The carriage ascends the moment the doors shut, bringing me to a dark reception room. Afforded a few moments to gather my strength, I exit the elevator in my own time, safe in the knowledge that the Reaper abominations are below and behind a thick mass of metal. Or I'm trapped up here behind a thick mass of metal. Semantics...

I step inside the control room and lean against the hand-rail on my right. After a few steps, I catch sight of my father as well as Oriana, just as Kai Leng's taunting had suggested. However, to my relief, they're both very much alive, cowering in the far corner and staring wide-eyed at me as if they've seen a ghost. Though I imagine I look more like something the cat's dragged in.

Almost in unison, they cry out my name; Oriana's voice a mixture of shock and relief, my father's puzzlement and what sounds like umbrage. They remain rooted to the spot, unsure of what to do, while I limp into the middle of the room. My head's pounding and swimming feverishly, perhaps so that I don't sink into unconsciousness. No, that's not right...

Shaking the strange thought from my mind, I lift my head to face the pair, their forms now blurring and circling in front of my eyes.

"Hello, father. I'm home," I manage to utter before my legs buckle and I hit the floor.

* * *

**A/N: Yes, it's me! I'm not dead (as one guest reviewer worried). Which reminds me to point out that unless you have an account, I'm afraid there's no method by which I can answer your questions or thank you for reviews, as much as I'd like to. Anyway, as long you're aware how sorry I am for taking so long, as well as how grateful I am for your support!**

**I'd like to say tremendous thank yous to Steelcan, Ieldra2 and Awska, who helped turn this giant tangle of words into something resembling coherence. Your combined attention to detail, and expertise, was invaluable.  
**

**Never again will I attempt to write an extended piece of action like this, especially one I only planned out vaguely before beginning to write it, and was supposed to resemble a Sarah Walker-style knock-down drag-out fight. My stupidity mixed with work, the holiday break and a couple of new games saw this chapter stalled for far too long as I struggled to get back in the saddle. And I have no idea how to write Kai Leng (but then neither did BioWare, it seems...)  
**

**EDIT (17/1): Thanks to some early feedback, I have decided to include a full ground team during the next chapter. So, keep an eye out for your favourites! And thanks again!  
**


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

I...I must have blacked out. If only for a minute or two. Lifting my eyes off the cold metal, I gather enough strength in both arms to lean myself back and see the room once more.

Knelt down, Oriana's come to my aid, her concerned face hovering in front of mine. It still catches me off-guard every time I see her. A younger version of myself, only without the permanent scowl, those subtle lines of worry and cynicism etched into the forehead. And there's her voice, barely penetrating the throbbing in my ears with that softer tone, not weathered by the harshness of life. As everything becomes a little clearer, so do her words.

"Miranda! Miranda, are you OK? Miranda!"

I nod. She tries to help me get back on my feet, but I wave her away and prop myself up against a desk behind. No matter which way I try to angle my head, it feels like my brain is trying to pound its way out of my skull. My arms hang heavy at my side and my whole body is about ready to collapse should my determination falter.

"I'm just a little tired, that's all." _If only._

"Your cheek...you're bleeding," she frets.

"Occupational hazard. It's nothing. Really."

She eases off, but her eyes remain doubtful. It's an expression I hate to witness, but I'm not about to worry her more by confessing that my body is black and blue underneath this black and white.

Lingering at the periphery is my father, staring out of the large window on the far-right of the room, pensive and quietly troubled. If he's trying to pretend I'm not here, he's almost succeeding. Doesn't matter, I don't need him. I have a mission to complete. No stopping now.

"Ori, do you know how to open up communications? I know where we can call for help." Though doing so might land me in hot water afterwards, it's the least of my concerns right now.

"I tried to transmit a warning, but he locked me out," she replies, explaining the problem.

I raise my left arm to activate my omni-tool.

"Don't worry, I have...damnit!" The device fails to respond, too damaged after my 'pointed' confrontation with Kai Leng. Announcing myself loudly enough to be heard by my father, I issue my command, "Disable the communication jammer."

Without turning, he deigns to acknowledge me. "You do not give me orders, child."

"I can rephrase it as an ultimatum, if you'd like."

He turns to make eye contact. Though he was always restrained in his gestures, I can tell that the comment upset him. The last time I took that tone with him, he received a bullet. Do I detect a hint of fear buried beneath the sudden anger?

"Stand on your own two feet and then you can make threats," he mocks. "But then, you never really did learn to stand on your own two feet, figuratively-speaking. I gave you everything, right down to your name. Oh, 'Lawson' may be common, but you clung to it, knowing full well what it meant to Cerberus. It bought you respect. Respect you'd never earned."

Now is not the time to engage in a war of words. He's just another obstacle to overcome before I complete my mission. I can force him to cooperate. I...

A slight shift of balance sends a shooting pain down my back and halts my movement. I mask it as best I can with further bravado.

"Disable the communication jammer before I make you."

"Children are supposed to grow out of their rebellious teen phase..."

"And what would you know about children? Look at this place. You brought your daughter to a death camp!"

"I brought her to the safest place in the galaxy. Where true history will be made." He looks offended. "You left her among the rabble, fighting to board shuttles, running for their lives, relying on military forces that stand no chance against the might of the Reapers. I've discovered the first step towards harnessing their power. I will be remembered as a saviour of the galaxy. And I will decide its future."

I'd assume he's indoctrinated if I didn't know him better. This is not outside of his character.

"You're the selfish little girl who took Oriana from me," he continues. "She was destined for greatness, something you could never appreciate. You hid her true potential just to spite me."

I direct a brief sympathetic glance at Oriana, who looks completely lost. Heaven knows what she's had to go through, the things she's seen. And to top it all off, she's treated like some long-lost possession. Did he expect her to be proud? Impressed?

A moment of silence descends. It's strangely quiet. Enough that I can quite clearly hear myself swallow, trying to abate the dryness in my throat before I speak again.

"Disable the communication jammer. It's not too late to call for help."

"I think not. The plan is in motion and the Alliance must not be alerted. I'll happily bide my time until a Cerberus team secures the site."

"Don't you get it? No one else is coming for you. Kai Leng took what they needed. You played your part, just like I did, and now you're expendable. So do the right thing and see that you don't drag your daughter down with you."

On the sidelines, Oriana fidgets uncomfortably, troubled. My father doesn't appear to notice her at all.

"You don't have to die here," I tell him honestly, swallowing my pride.

As much as I'd like to end him, my curiosity about this plan overrides that. I've been chasing up leads on the Phoenix Project for months, and it seems I still don't have the full story. Though, I think it'll take someone besides me to get it out of him. All I can hope for is enough cooperation to get us out of here.

"And I won't," he answers confidently. "You lack vision _and_ you underestimate my importance. This will be my legacy."

"Is that what the Illusive Man would have you believe?" My voice fills with pity. "Your ego always did make you easy to manipulate. And now it's going to get you killed. There is no loyalty, you hold no value. Even if you succeed, no one will remember this as your accomplishment. That's not how Cerberus works. You've funnelled all your money into an organisation that has betrayed the galaxy in its hour of need. You've twisted noble scientific goals, butchering countless innocent humans in the process. _That_ is your legacy."

As horrible as the circumstances are, that felt good to say. I never had a chance to really address him, to demonstrate his own flaws past that reminder of his very real mortality, two decades ago. The words galvanise me enough that I make another attempt to stand. It's a struggle but I manage it by using the desk as support and trying to avoid putting pressure on the tenderness in my left ankle.

He bristles and measures me with disdain. "You are in no position to get sanctimonious. Someone laid the groundwork for this project, after all. Does Oriana know just who her 'guardian angel' really is, I wonder?"

Before I can help myself, I'm meeting Oriana's questioning gaze. She's still stunned silent, unsure what to do.

"It's OK, Ori. I'll get us out of here. I promise."

Ideally, I'd like to refrain from violence in front of her, but I'm not exactly flush with options right now. Recalling my basic training on the 3 Cs of hostile negotiations, if 'Convince' and 'Coerce' fail on my father, as seems to be the case, there is 'Conquer'. I just...I just need time to...

I turn my head back too quickly and the room takes a second to catch up. Standing straight and blinking causes the sensation to subside.

My father has turned away, staring out the window as if that's where he'll find some answers. Though, this time, his arms are crossed quite tellingly. I observe him for a moment, then it clicks. He's not looking out, he's studying his reflection. I should be able to recognise my own mannerisms...

"You're scared," I surmise, leaning forward to better observe the side of his face. "You're nothing but a scared old man. The great and powerful Henry Lawson realising that he can be discarded as easily and callously as one of his own test subjects. And all he has left is his final contribution to the galaxy: its biggest atrocity short of the Reapers. It doesn't have to end there. Don't let _him_ get the better of you."

He whirls round, fire in his eyes and takes a moment to settle himself before replying dismissively, "Spare me your compassion, child. That approach only works on the weak-minded."

I notice his hands unconsciously clench and unclench. No matter what he says, I can tell I've gotten under his skin.

"Did you put up a fight when Kai Leng came to relieve you of your research? Did you beg him to take you too? Barter maybe? You're lucky he didn't just kill you. Perhaps he didn't want to in front of your daughter. Or perhaps you just weren't worth his time."

"You're pathetic."

"It hurts to be second-best, doesn't it? To know that there's someone better than you. Smarter than you." I'm poking now. Trying to pick away at his resolve, bully him until he complies; the same method he'd used on me many times. Clearly, he's too stubborn or blind for anything else. "I stood up to Kai Leng. And, as you may be able to tell, I was second-best. Once again. But I'm still alive. That's the important thing. And I owe that to you, _father_. You should be proud."

"Who taught you to be so flippant about your shortcomings? It's no surprise you're a failure. Without me, without Cerberus, you are nothing. I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps. I worked hard to get where I am today." He shakes his head, the rage slipping into sour rebuke. "You were meant to surpass me. You could have had everything, but you threw it all away. And you stole it from Oriana before she even knew what she had."

"She has a life. One that you've taken from her. She was happy!" I hesitate and rein in my tone, stating simply, "She will go on to achieve great things without you."

"Unless the Reapers are stopped, there won't be anything left. While you balked at the necessary measures, I prevailed. I found a solution," he boasts.

"Husks. You can control husks, nothing more." He can't even control his own daughters.

"That is merely a matter of scale. We have made preparations towards controlling the entire force."

"_Cerberus_ has made preparations. They don't include you."

"I am Henry Lawson. I helped make Cerberus the force it is today. They won't abandon me."

"They already have," I intone earnestly. He glares at me, silent. "Face it. I am your 'greatest accomplishment', and even I'd sooner see you dead."

I lock my eyes onto his, keeping them there until his own stare withers and diverts downwards at nothing in particular.

"I tried," he grumbles. "I tried, I really did. I should have had you terminated much earlier. That's the price _I_ paid for compassion."

_A cynic knows the price of everything and the value of nothing_, my tired mind chimes in.

"It's not too late. Go on. Seize that fleeting sense of power before it's gone forever. You'll never get a better chance than this. "

I'm not lying. Even though I've had some time to recover, there's still a chance I'd need to rely on Oriana if things came to blows. It's not a chance I'd like to take, but it looks like I might have to.

His jaw trembles in indignation. "Don't tempt me..."

"You've already killed thousands, it's about time you were man enough to do it with your own two hands."

"I took no pleasure in the method of research. I am only doing what is necessary to stop the Reapers. There's no other way."

Cruel more than exasperated, I say, "Excuses...are merely the tools of the incompetent."

Something snaps inside of him and, without another word, he makes to move towards me.

I prepare to fight back, making a fist of the pain coursing through my body. In a flash, Oriana plants herself between us, drawing something from inside her jacket. Gripping it in both hands, she points it at my father, who recoils immediately in response. It takes a moment before my glazed eyes can register what it is, and another for my brain to process it.

A gun. Oriana has a gun...

My father makes a show of compliance, lifting open palms in front of his chest, but makes no effort to move from the spot.

"Get back! Now!" she commands, both the weapon and her voice quivering.

He stays put.

"Ori! Put the gun down!" I plead, failing to reach her side in my hobbling state.

She remains facing my father but addresses me. "He won't listen!"

"You're making a mistake," are my father's next words, eerily similar to those he offered when I had him at gunpoint all those years ago. The same words that echoed through that frightened teenager's head for days afterwards, filling her with doubt and regret.

"We...we need to get out of here," Oriana explains, the pressure starting to overwhelm her.

I soften my voice as much as I can. "Ori, listen to me. You don't have to do this."

I will not allow him to make a murderer of her, no matter how justified it would be. Though, I must admit, I'm accustomed to talking down or threatening hardened 'combatants', not comforting distressed civilians.

"Do as your sister says, Oriana."

"Ori, give me the gun," I call, my shoulder straining at the effort of extending my arm.

She makes a quick turn of the head, a tear-filled eye showing doubt that I'm up to the task, before moving back to my father.

Her speech chokes and starts to resemble begging. "Call for help."

My father firmly offers a one-syllable refusal. She's losing what little hold she had on the situation, and he knows it. Steeling herself, she takes a deep breath and repeats my own earlier instruction, "Disable the communication jammer."

My father smiles bitterly at the emulation. He can tell Oriana is out of her depth.

"Oriana, come now, you wouldn't shoot an unarmed man. Especially not your father." He inches closer with every sentence, but she's still out of my reach...

"You're not my father!" she yells defiantly.

"I brought you into this world. You are _my_ daughter."

"I don't know you," she utters quietly with a chilling lack of emotion.

Something inside her has made its peace, as her finger gradually squeezes the trigger.

I'm still too far away...

"Ori..!."

Without thinking, I cast a faint shockwave of biotic energy in her direction. In my desperation, it comes out stronger than I intended and the effort exacts its toll. I succumb to the fatigue, collapsing back down to the floor with a heavy thud.

Fortunately, I've done enough to disrupt Oriana's aim. The bullet flies wide and impacts against the large pane of glass behind my father in a dull echo, sending huge fractures streaking across the span of the window.

Unfortunately, I'm left helpless to stop him from capitalising on the situation as he overpowers a dazed Oriana, shoving her to one side while seizing the gun for himself. Another costly mistake on my behalf...

Now I find myself staring down the barrel, trying hopelessly to find the energy to form a biotic barrier. No second chances this time. The bullets are very real.

_Come, Miranda. We can do this._

"Think you've got anything left?" he challenges me, calmly firming his grip on the gun.

_This man means to kill you. Defend yourself._

"Try me," I bluff through gritted teeth. I never pictured myself dying on my knees.

"No!" Oriana yells, lunging forward. My father takes a sudden step backwards while brandishing the gun in her direction, halting her before she can get too close.

Then, behind me, the door from the elevator opens, attracting everyone's attention. I can't see who it is from down here. It can't be Reapers, maybe it's—

"Shepard..."

He passes by, weapon ready, focused intently on the other two.

My father grabs hold of Oriana, locking an arm round her neck, taking her hostage. "Commander Shepard. Excellent timing."

Deep down inside me, I can feel a long-buried fury ignite. A surge of adrenaline hits and my muscles begin to buzz in anticipation. The ache and the pain throughout my body gradually starts fading into the background.

"Put the gun down," Shepard orders in a firm tone. Moving up on his left, also training their weapons on my father, come Liara, luminous in the room's blue lighting, and...a robot. A very shapely female robot. Certainly not a geth design. I'll have to trust Shepard on this one.

"No," my father replies, trying to sound brave but evidently shaken by the course of events. "Oriana tried to shoot me. Miranda's poisonous influence, no doubt."

He's trying to play the victim! His face in shadow behind the young girl he's using as a shield, and he's playing the victim.

"I'm sorry she missed," Shepard mocks, making no effort to mask his disdain. "Where's Kai Leng?"

"I don't know. Gone. He took my research and left us here to die."

Has he realised the truth or is the idiot really trying to garner an iota of sympathy?

Shepard, offering no hint of distress or vulnerability, affords a moment to acknowledge me now. "Miranda, can you hear me?"

As weird as it feels to admit, his presence is like a tonic. I once told him how people would be willing to follow him into hell itself. As it turns out, I'm perfectly capable of finding my own way...

Full of a renewed energy and grim determination, I sluggishly begin to pick myself up. With all eyes on me during the process, I manage to catch my father's brief look of disdain, returning the sentiment tenfold.

"That's close enough. Both of you!" he threatens now that I'm back on my feet. A lingering pain in my abdomen keeps me stooped forward slightly. Even though he's aware of my weakened condition, he's still fearful. "Kai Leng didn't finish the job, but I will."

"This ends here."

"On the contrary. Now that the Reapers are taken care of, we have a way out."

"Let her go," Shepard orders.

The change in circumstances has left me with one goal, but I'm forced to defer to Shepard. I offer my input, trusting that he'll fulfil my wish, whatever happens. "Shepard...don't let him take her."

"Shepard, please..." Oriana urges, equally aware that this all rests on him.

Shepard states the only options left. "You try to leave with her, you die. Let her go, and maybe you walk."

"I've done nothing to you," my father tries to reason.

"This isn't about you and me," Shepard assures him while confidently stepping to the side, lining up a better shot. "Let her go, and walk away. I won't say it again."

How insignificant the old man must feel. He considers his options, taking one last look at Oriana before shoving her to the ground.

"All right. Take her. But I want out alive. Deal?"

With his full attention on Shepard, this is my opportunity.

Drawing on the awakened desire for wrath, further fuelled by bitter memories, my biotics swell into action. Any ache I felt is now replaced by a weightless, tingling sensation.

No longer am I that scared little girl, struggling to stand up for herself.

No longer am I full of impotent rage, helpless to change my circumstances.

And no longer am I unskilled in the use of biotics, faltering at the crucial moment.

Fists clenched, I draw back my right hand, using it to channel all the power I can muster. The blue energy flares up and dances around me. Without a moment's hesitation, I throw my arm forwards, directing everything at my father. He's caught off-guard as the tremendous force hits, hurling him backwards through the damaged window with a loud smash. Down he goes to the distant floor below, yelling hopelessly, shards of glass following his descent.

"No deal," I quip, shuddering in relief as the adrenaline rush subsides, the aggression is expelled and a great weight appears to lift. Those years of lingering torment are finally at an end. The man's legacy became his literal downfall. And all it took was a little push. Putting those unpleasant thoughts aside for now, my immediate attention goes to Ori, who appears a little bewildered and dumbstruck. "Did he hurt you? Are you all right?"

Helping her off her hands and knees, I hug her tightly. Tight enough to convince myself that I'd finally found her. During my search, I've burned a lot of bridges - some falling soon after I'd crossed - used up a lot of goodwill, and put myself through hell, but seeing Oriana safe makes it worth it.

During our embrace, I reassure her. "It's OK, Ori. You're safe now."

"I'm fine. I just...I want to get out of here."

"We will. Give me a minute, OK?" There's someone else who thoroughly deserves my attention. "Shepard, I can't believe it's you."

He waits for me to approach, while his squad mates waste no time starting to examine the facility's computers. If they don't find anything, well...I've got an ace up my sleeve.

I think that can wait for a minute or two though...

"We caught a break. I'm just glad we got here in time," Shepard says reservedly, the sense of relief in his voice perceptible only to me.

"As am I." Crossing my arms, I snort at the irony of the situation; an ounce of humour finding its way back into my demeanour. "Never saw myself as a damsel in distress."

"How did you do all this?"

"Finding my father didn't take long once I confirmed he worked for the Illusive Man. Just had to follow the lies." I can't help but shake my head and sigh at the mess of complications that my search had become. And it wasn't quite over yet. "Once I saw what this place really was... I couldn't just walk away."

"Of course."

"Things got really complicated when Reapers showed up. And Kai Leng."

"You survived. Not many people could do that." I almost didn't.

"When you mentioned he was involved, I took a few precautions. Probably saved my life."

"You broke into a fortified Cerberus lab while it was being attacked by Reapers. I think you did OK," he says dryly, trying to lighten the mood while closing the gap between us. I'm still too tense, struggling to process the events of the last couple of hours.

"I needed to find Oriana. Nothing was going to stop me."

"You found her. And I found you." He runs a tender hand along my arm; something he's always done as a sign that I can loosen up. "That's all that matters."

We've been apart so long, it's soothing just to receive the lightest touch. To lock eyes with him and...God, I must look such a mess.

"Did you worry?"

"Of course I worried."

"It was nothing I couldn't handle." I made Oriana a promise. I would've seen it through. I know I would...

"I know," he agrees politely. "At least Oriana is safe."

"Yes. I just wish she didn't have to see all this."

I stare at the floor, running things through my mind. It's easy to forget that we've become accustomed to facing the worst the galaxy has to offer, fighting day-in day-out, bullets just another one of those workplace hazards. A husk is cannon fodder to people like us; to Ori it must have been the most frightening thing she'd ever seen. And to witness someone creating them...

"About your father..." Shepard starts.

"I'm glad he's gone, Shepard," I interrupt, unwilling to explore the topic at this particular juncture. "I'm sorry if that sounds cold."

"No, I understand."

"It's finally over, for both of us." As it all sinks in, I'm filled with a curious sense of elation. I'm one step closer to ending this whole ordeal and starting a new chapter. No matter how much I'd insisted I wasn't defined by my father's influence, there was always one grave step needed to make that a reality. I'd detached myself from that world, from that lifestyle as much as possible, but I'd never truly escaped. I'd come to accept that a part of me never would. Perhaps, now, there was hope. "We can stop running."

Shepard passively agrees, sensing that I'm already lost in thought, my back turned. I hear him move over to his immediate squad. "What's our status? Any intel we can use from this place?"

Accompanied by furious tapping at the main terminal's keypad, Liara responds, "The research data's gone, but there's basic facility information. Shuttle arrivals and departures, Cerberus included. No direct links, but it's a good start."

"Grab anything you can off the computer. We'll take it back to be analysed," Shepard instructs the asari.

Sensing my moment to shine, I fetch the tracker from my belt, making sure the bloody thing still works before I interject, "I can do better than that."

"What?"

"Before Kai Leng took off, I planted a tracer on him. If you act fast, you'll track him right to the Illusive Man."

I join the others and pass the device to Shepard. He studies it, eyes widening and a gentle smile appearing on his face.

"A tracer? Sounds like you thought of everything."

"Not quite, but...nobody's perfect."

To anyone else that comment would sound trite, even in its modesty, but Shepard understands the deeper significance.

"Thanks, Miranda. This is...exactly what we need."

"Thought you might need some good news."

"Damn right. What's next for you two?"

"Get her some place safe. Get this scratch cleaned up," I say, being economical with the truth so as to cover both the extent of my injuries and the unfinished business I have with Erin. I don't want to concern him any more than I have to, especially after this debacle.

"OK, I've got to follow all this up."

"Shepard..." I call to him before he becomes absorbed in his task once more. He responds to my delicate embrace, a hand caressing his shoulder, our eyes sharing a longing gaze. Then comes the agonising moment where he realises that I intend to leave immediately, knowing that duty comes first. He doesn't question my condition or my plan. He trusts me wholeheartedly. However, I do need something from him...

"Promise me you'll be careful."

"I can't do that, Miranda," he smirks, masking the yearning and worry with playfulness.

Doing the same, a wry smile pulls at one side of my mouth. "I know. Bastard."

For now, I can take comfort in the fact that I have my little sister back. And she's in need of reuniting with her family. "Come on, Ori. We've had enough of father's hospitality."

As we exit the room, I hear Shepard instruct Liara to disable the communication jammer. That damn communication jammer. My recorded warning begins broadcasting and the memory of creating it suddenly seems so distant.

Once the doors close behind us, putting me out of Shepard's sight, I allow the symptoms of exhaustion to resurface. I spend the short elevator journey with my head back against the wall, eyes closed. The space still feels as claustrophobic as it did on the way up. Ori stays silent, either still in shock or not wishing to disturb me. Possibly both. If I could keep up appearances in front of her I would, but I just don't have it in me.

We emerge from the elevator and stumble into Garrus, one of Shepard's longest and most trusted friends, who immediately finishes a conversation on his headset before I'm able to catch any of it.

"Miranda," he greets me, drawing out my name ever so slightly longer than normal. Except where others might lean on the 'n' sound in my name, making it sound like an insult, the pleasant purr of his voice gives the impression of friendliness.

"Good to see you, Garrus," I reply, smiling faintly.

Garrus and I may not always have seen eye-to-eye but we both have Shepard's wellbeing at heart, and I can tell he's put aside any animosity towards me as a result. I'm glad Shepard has people like Garrus and Liara at his side. People who can show unwavering loyalty. People who have known him longer than I have. I used to look down on Garrus for playing second fiddle but I've learned to appreciate that even those living in the shadow of others can excel in their own way.

And, besides the scars, he looks well. If the war's taken its toll on him, it's not apparent. Then again, turians always did have those eternally proud-looking stiff backs and almost inscrutable faces.

Rather than head for the elevator, he stands ready, waiting for something. Then I realise he's waiting to escort us.

"Will you be opening doors for us like a true gentleman?" I ask, showing him my wrecked glove and omni-tool.

"I'm not going to ask..."

"Lead the way," I instruct him. "I'll keep up."

We continue down the long corridor, past the now-deceased brutes that had troubled me on the way to the tower, Oriana moving closer to me while trying her best to avoid having to look at them. My legs are reminded of the excruciating final sprint, and my back the last second take-off.

"You came through all this?" she asks, awed.

"Yeah," I reply with a casual tone, betraying the difficulty that task had posed.

She huddles up to me, linking an arm round mine and momentarily nestles her head against my shoulder. All at once, I truly feel like a big sister. I've never been this close to Oriana before. It's...nice.

We carry on in silence, Garrus unlocking doors whenever we take an odd diversion or two. Whichever way we go, there are dead bodies of one form or another. I fight back the urge to arm myself with a dead trooper's weapon, staying close to Oriana instead.

"It's not much farther," Garrus announces to no one in particular; the statement a horrible echo of earlier events. The sooner we all get away from here, the better.

"Garrus, how is he? _Really_," I take the opportunity to ask, now relying on him to keep me informed about the side of Shepard I don't get to see.

"He's holding up," he replies without breaking his stride. "It hasn't been easy. It's _never_ easy, but he's hanging in there."

I guess I won't get an involved answer from him either. We're all suppressing our fears.

"He'll get it done. He always does."

"No argument there," the turian agrees. "Word is, the war effort's nearly ready for the big push."

"The 'Crucible', you mean?"

"How did..."

"I have my sources." And a severe need to find out what Erin's connection to it was. "Did he put you up to this?" I ask out of the blue.

"He didn't need-" Garrus begins to reply before we're suddenly distracted by a pink and purple combat drone that floats round one of the corners, startling Oriana when it closes in to scan us.

Its colours are uncommon, making it all the more familiar to me, I think I even recall its name. I certainly recall its owner, deciding that the safest course of action is to remain still and wait for her to catch-up. Seeing Garrus and I at ease, Oriana follows my lead and stands straight. Content with the results of its quick scan, the drone hovers peacefully to one side. Oriana peers at it curiously before it blinks out of existence.

Seconds later, Tali, appears, instinctively aiming her weapon at me. Right behind comes an Alliance marine in bulky armour, who lowers his shotgun after recognising Garrus and laying eyes upon me.

"Madre de...!" he exclaims, noticing my injuries. "Are you all right?"

I try and correct my posture as best I can. "Fine. Really. Thank you." I turn my attention to the quarian. " You can lower your weapon, Tali. Even your drone recognised me as friendly."

"True," she concedes, granting my request, "but they have been known to make mistakes. Friendly is not the term I'd use."

An uncomfortable silence follows. I always found Tali tricky to interact with; her face being hard to read behind a mask. Not that our personalities or history ever would've allowed a regular conversation.

"Nice seeing you again, Tali," I remark bluntly so as to cease any further conversation in the politest way possible, lacking both the energy and inclination to trade barbs any further.

"You too, Miranda," she says, the hostility as measured and, ultimately, restrained as mine.

"No sign of Cerberus forces, and we've cleared out any remaining Reaper troops between here and the hangar," the Alliance marine reports to Garrus.

"Good work," the turian responds.

"Then we'd best get going," I say, a nagging ache in my legs telling me not to linger lest they decide to seize up altogether.

A flicker of thought crosses the Alliance marine's face, then he addresses me. "Hey, you're the one on the recordings, right? M-"

"Miranda Lawson."

"The commander told me about you. Nice to meet you, Blue Eyes." He smiles genially. I stare at him questioningly. "Huh? Oh, I have this habit of uh...I like to give people nicknames."

"Blue Eyes?"

"Hey, I never said they were inventive."

I have had worse nicknames. And people's attention has often prioritised other attributes of mine...

"I should go or you'll be calling me Black Eyes pretty soon. Nice meeting you, too..."

"James. James Vega." He nods politely.

As we continue on, Oriana's head turns to observe the other two a little longer.

Thankfully, the rest of the journey is as uneventful as James' report had suggested, and the earlier, interrupted discussion with Garrus isn't brought up again until we arrive at an intersection I recognise as close to the hangar. There, we run into another Alliance marine, standing guard: Ashley Williams. She moves to block our path, looking decidedly unhappy to see me.

"Shuttle's this way. Follow me," she orders brusquely.

"We're not going with you," I reply, catching the briefest flashes of surprise from both Garrus and Oriana at my side.

As much as I'd like to visit the Normandy again, I need to get us out of here. If I really have jeopardised the Crucible project, I need to get Oriana away from me should 'John' come knocking. That transgression will no doubt override any heroics here.

Ashley doesn't budge. "You're to report to the Normandy for a debriefing. End of discussion."

"I gave Shepard all the necessary information."

"That doesn't satisfy me and it won't satisfy the Alliance."

"I'm leaving with Oriana whether you're satisfied or not."

We fix one another with cold stares.

"Ash, I think we can trust her," Garrus interrupts.

"Can we, Garrus? She just happened to survive a fight with Kai Leng. That doesn't sound a little suspect to you?"

"I've seen what's she capable of. She's made of stern stuff," the turian assures her.

The Illusive Man once told me I was the epitome of 'stern'. I used to draw strength from that description; now, with everything that's happened, I'm not so sure.

Garrus smiles, further lowering the charming rumble of his voice and stretching the first syllable as he continues, "Plus, I know Shepard's type."

"Garrus," Ashley starts, glaring at him, "we both heard EDI's assessment, and I concur. She needs medical attention. Look at her, she can barely stand!"

Uncomfortable at feeling out of the loop, my eyes dart between them before widening with the stunned realisation concerning Shepard's other, unidentified companion. "That was EDI?"

"Big shiny robot with an orange visor? It's a long story..." Garrus confirms.

"Who's EDI?" Oriana enquires, already intrigued and a little distressed by the exchange so far.

I furrow a disapproving eyebrow. "A formerly-shackled and shipboard AI now walking about with a gun. And seemingly issuing orders of her own."

"It wasn't an order," Garrus explains earnestly. "She was worried that Shepard trusted you too much to question you. Her only concern is for your condition."

"I'm fine, really. My body mends itself quickly. I'm lucid, I'm walking. We'll only crowd the shuttle anyway."

Ashley eyes me doubtfully, but remains silent. I don't believe the words myself but I can hold off seeing a doctor long enough to get Oriana to safety. I know I can.

"You're sure about this?" the turian continues trying to sway me. "I can't guarantee you'll get a warm welcome, but I know he'd appreciate you being there."

"It's not my ship anymore," I reply sombrely.

"Just as well." He lets out a wry chuckle. "You'd hate what they've done with your office."

Ashley shakes her head. "Garrus, we're not letting her-"

"Ash, if you don't trust her, then trust Shepard."

She considers it, even looking a little guilty. Was there merit to the rumours about an Alliance marine standing against Shepard during the coup? Begrudgingly, though without further spoken objection, she stands aside to let us pass. Oriana follows me dutifully while Ashley studies her with a concerned expression.

Inside the cavernous hangar once more, I break from Oriana slightly in order to inspect the other ships here. At least one of them must be adequate.

The relative darkness here is inviting, while the unhurried plod of our footsteps is an oddly soothing sound. And staring at my eyelids is becoming an appealing prospect...

It's not far now. We'll find a ship, program the coordinates and _then_ I can relax for a spell.

"Randa, why aren't we going with them?" Oriana asks, slightly puzzled. "They seem like decent people. Obviously, they care for you."

"It's a warship, Ori. It's not safe," I reply as if that settles the matter. "We'll get you back to your parents and everything will be all right."

"But what about you? Are you all right? They said-"

"I'll be fine. Honestly."

She follows me as I round one of the large freighters. My head dips and my balance wavers but I recover just shy of needing to steady myself against the hull. Turning back to face Oriana, I spot her staring at her feet and then up at me.

"What if I said I wanted to stay with you?" she proposes.

Without a moment's hesitation, I answer bluntly, "Out of the question."

"Why?" she demands, wide-eyed.

Everything becomes blurred. I casually raise a hand to my eyes to try and rub away the haze, acting like I'm clearing nothing more than sleep.

Massaging the increased throbbing in my temple and staring at her through the red blotches floating across my vision, I try and explain, "Because what I'm doing isn't safe for-"

"I'm not a child!" she argues, raising her voice.

"Ori, I didn't mean...I'm trying to look out for you."

"Then why won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Now my knees are trembling, threatening to give. The sensation starts to rise through my body until I become light-headed. I try to stifle the sudden shiver.

_No. Not now... Please..._

"Ori, you're...you're better off not knowing. Trust me."

"I'm your sister, Randa!" she pleads.

"That's why...I need to get you away from me..." I confess faintly before I'm no longer able to deny what's coming and pass out.

When I awake, I find myself a patient in the Normandy's med-bay with Oriana at my side.

* * *

**A/N: Agh, I've forgotten how to write shorter chapters! We're finally out of Sanctuary at least.**

**First up, a big thank you to Awska (once again!) for her help in reshaping this chapter so that it flows a lot better and isn't quite so jarring when being reconciled with the in-game content (no easy task, I assure you). If you liked seeing some of the other squadmates in this chapter, you'll probably love her story 'Unity'.**

**And thanks to Ieldra2 for his assistance with a rough draft of the first section of this chapter. While I didn't make the big change he might have hoped for, the representation was ultimately tempered somewhat. Plus, it was reassuring to know an avid Miranda fan didn't think things weren't completely off the rails.  
**

**And, of course, my continued thanks to you guys! Reviews, criticisms, general comment: all appreciated! I hope I did justice to your favourites among Shepard's ME3 squad...**

**Let's see what this Citadel DLC brings, too, eh...**


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

I can't stay here.

Not because of the temperature, not because of the sand, and not for my safety. There are a few people milling about at this early hour, locals walking dogs, joggers enjoying a route across the beach or some who appear to work unconventional shifts. None, though, are a threat. Most don't even acknowledge me. I'm just a dark-haired adolescent who decided to wander out far enough to wet her toes, stare out at the vast blue-green blanket of water and then lie down to watch the sun rise.

I'd attracted the attention of the lifeguard, but a friendly wave was enough to allay her concern. It appears I had successfully masked my utter despair behind a veneer of calm. And then I did actually find a measure of serenity from watching the waves and listening to the gentle crash of each one while the fresh sea breeze filled my lungs .

I can't stay here – that much is certain – but I'm going to do so as long as possible. I doubt I'll be seeing much sunlight after this.

When I am finally found, it's not who I was expecting. The footsteps pad slowly closer until they come to a stop near my head. Then comes a sympathetic sigh and utterance.

"Miranda, sweetie, you can't outrun your problems."

Erin...

"How did you find me?" I ask while watching birds glide across the sky.

"Niket got in touch with me."

"I knew I shouldn't have told him anything," I say, propping myself up on my elbows. I guess I should be grateful he sought out Erin rather than anyone else.

"And just leave without saying goodbye? Miranda, the poor boy was scared. He cares about you."

"Well, he shouldn't!" I cry, glaring at her before shooting to my feet and turning away, crossing my arms tightly round my chest. "I don't need him, I don't need anyone. Just leave me alone."

Erin lets out a small laugh, gentle not mocking.

I whirl round, agitated, puzzled. "What's so funny?"

"I've just realised how similar your father sounds to a teenager at times."

"I am not like him," I insist, pouting.

"Oh, I know you're not, darl. Come here."

She opens her arms as a prompt to hug her. It...it looks inviting. Even that small indication of affection is enough to trigger tears at a time like this.

"No," I reply bluntly, facing away once more to hide the signs of vulnerability breaking out across my features.

She breathes a heavy sigh. "Miranda, it's all right to cry."

"I'm not," I sniff sharply. "It's the wind. There's sand...and it's salty. I'm a Lawson. I don't cry."

She moves up beside me and sits down, leaning back on her arms, still respecting my wishes by not looking my way. I peek enough to the side to see she's already started to get sand over the trousers of her expensive suit.

"Henr...your father once told me that he wanted you to have the look and grace of a North Atlantic film star, whatever the bloody hell that means. Something about porcelain skin, blue eyes... You would've had blonde hair if he didn't worry about you not being taken seriously. He felt those women had strong, enigmatic faces. Faces on which tears of sadness were simply 'out of place'. They had the perfect visage. He's wrong, of course." She pauses to glance at me knowingly. Partially comforted, I sit down beside her, my reddened and watery eyes on display. Once I'm settled, she continues in an agitated tone, "He has a very warped idea of what perfection really is. Not the sort of thing you want to impose on anyone, let alone a child." She takes another deep breath and her tone calms. "It's perfectly natural to cry, Miranda."

"I don't cry."

"Miranda, you see those birds?" She points to the same ones I'd been observing before, circling over the waves endlessly, as if they don't have a care in the world. "Do you know what separates us from them?"

They're free...

"Emotions," she states boldly, leaving a gap so I'm forced to ponder what she means. "No other creatures possess emotions or the ability for abstract thought, which given our position as a species, would imply that they are of some evolutionary benefit. And just look at all the other significantly advanced alien species we've encountered, they're all very much alike in that regard."

The comment further irritates my own futile yearning to get off this planet and see them first-hand.

"I don't cry," I repeat, a little more mildly this time, mulling over her reasoning in the back of my mind. It's a rudimentary expression of the concept and a little misguided at that, though I must admit, not entirely without merit.

"And that's OK," she reassures me, putting a hand on my shoulder. Surprised by the action, and wary of anyone touching me, I jerk away instinctively. Her face drops, troubled. "Build up all the walls you need to, Miranda, but don't suffocate the person inside. Don't cut yourself off from those that care and don't count yourself out. You're a beautiful and bright, little brat with a promising future. It won't always be like this."

"I don't want to go back."

"I can't help you there, I'm afraid, sweetie. What was your plan anyway? Swim to kiwi land?"

"I just need to get away."

"And kill yourself trying?" A thought suddenly flickers across her features and I see her consider it for a moment. Then she leans in close, conspiratorially. "In a few years you'll be far better prepared to leave. I've heard Tasmania's a good place to get off-planet undetected. If you can get down to the peninsula, there's a route across from there."

"Take me there now."

"It's a little late for that. Besides, you'll benefit from a few more years here. Endure and you'll get your chance."

At that moment a quiet resentment towards Erin took hold, childish and irrational as it may seem. She can see my suffering but I can tell she doesn't want to cross my father. Everyone around me has become incredibly easy to read; all governed by greed or self-preservation. I am a prisoner of this world.

She stands and holds out a hand to me. "Let's get you back home, and we'll make sure to come up with a plausible story on the way."

Reluctantly, I join her, my head hung low.

"Don't forget your shoes," she reminds me.

I give them a disdainful look. The sleek, designer shoes that fit so comfortably they could have been sculpted to my feet yet couldn't carry me over a stretch of sand. I hadn't even the nerve to toss them away in my fit of anger, instead neatly setting them down side by side. Dozens like them waited for me at the house; one pair wouldn't be missed.

"I don't want them," I state plainly before we depart.

And so they remained, pointing out to sea, a vague suggestion that a little girl had removed them and disappeared off into the waves and over the horizon.

* * *

Waking up, the first thing I recognise is my surroundings: the Normandy's med-bay. The second thing is Oriana at my bedside, life bursting into her features now I'm conscious.

_I can't stay here._

"Randa..." she greets me sensitively.

I smile at her with my eyes in response. Or at least I think I do. I still feel a little woozy...but in a good way. There's no sharp pain or dull ache, just a tingly almost weightless feeling. The effect of drugs, no doubt. How long have I been out?

Past the foot of the bed, I notice the culprit, Dr. Chakwas, alerted by Oriana's voice. She turns from her desk.

"Ah, Ms. Lawson. Feeling a little better, I trust?"

My mouth is dry and my voice comes out slightly hoarse, like someone waking from a long sleep. "Where am I?"

"I'll spare you the obvious answer. We're currently docked at the Citadel."

My eyes widen as much my lids will allow and I sluggishly raise myself onto my elbows. "I can't be here."

"It's a good job you are. Did you expect to make your own way out of there?" the doctor chides, carrying out some basic med-scans as she speaks. "You're very fortunate not to have suffered severe internal trauma."

_Well, I'm sure a psychiatrist could uncover something of that nature..._

"You had me worried, Randa," Oriana comments, sounding hurt.

"Ori, I...I wish I could explain. I really do. I just didn't want you involved in...in...things are a little hectic, right now."

"I'm just glad you're all right," she tells me with a hint of that same suspicious expression she'd given me before. "Shepard was here, you know."

Oh, great. Just what I needed.

"Yes, he stayed as long as he could," Dr. Chakwas adds. "They almost had to drag him away. Oriana wasn't the only one you gave quite a scare."

My head drops back against the pillow in exasperation. If I believed in a thing like fate I'd swear it were playing a cruel trick on the two of us.

"Ori, I'm sorry," I say guiltily. God, that sounded stupid, both the words and the sentiment. I'm not good at apologies...

She places a hand on my arm. "I told you. It's OK."

"Where's Shepard now?" I ask Dr. Chakwas.

"He's part of the preparations to assault Cerberus headquarters. It appears a former operative sold out their organisation." She sighs and shakes her head, looking at me. "I hope those cuts and bruises were worth it."

"Every last one," I say, the dryness of my voice making it sound unexpectedly bitter. I try and smile at Oriana to counteract that, feeling a small prick of pain from what must be a split lip.

It's sweet relief to know that my 'hard work' paid off. Though, it means that circumstances see Shepard and I separated once again. And I've still got a lot to do. I never thought it would come to this. Adjusting to life away from Cerberus was difficult enough. Dismantling it is another thing.

"Let me get you some food and water," Oriana says, leaping from her seat.

"No, we're going," I try and command, appearing more like a pleading fool, laid up and croaky-voiced.

"Not this again!" she cries, glaring at me.

"Oriana's right. I'm reluctant to release you as it is," adds Chakwas. "You've had a decent rest, but that doesn't fix everything. Go, get something to eat. You may find some friendly faces out in the mess hall, and we're not due to depart for a while yet."

From my understanding, Dr. Chakwas had served like a mother figure to Shepard and Jeff Moreau along with most of the original Normandy crew. She appeared ideal for such a role: patient, friendly but firm, protective; I could see why she was recruited for the mission against the Collectors. Despite sharing the same deck for months, I'd never connected with her like others seemed to. Sometimes, I'd even made a conscious effort to avoid her. I'd seen more than my fair share of doctors growing up; where their presence had always been a bad sign. Project Lazarus was not the most comfortable environment, and I never truly felt at ease. I had suppressed all of that for the good of the mission, and satisfied myself with the fact that we _were_ doing good work. Though it certainly didn't help that one particular doctor became a grave pain in the neck towards the end.

"All right, all right. Let's see what you've done with the place," I concede, bringing myself up into a seating position at the edge of the bed. From there, I lay eyes on the connecting room directly ahead: the Server Room.

"Is EDI in there?" I ask Dr. Chakwas, nodding in the direction of the door. "The...humanoid platform, I mean."

"She's usually in the cockpit, I believe."

"In the cockpit, assisting with piloting herse..." I raise a hand to signal that an answer won't be necessary, unwilling to follow the train of thought any further. The 'body' being inside her 'brain' would have been bad enough. "Nope, forget it. Forget I even asked."

"Greetings, Operator Lawson," comes the AI's voice over the ship's intercom, as if summoned. "I am pleased to see you have recuperated."

"Thank you, EDI," I answer apprehensively, "but you don't have to address me by that title anymore. I resigned." Admittedly, not in a very formal manner.

"Interesting. I no longer have access to Cerberus databases. Allow me to contact the Illusive Man and record these changes. One moment." There's a small pause while I wait for what is inevitably coming. "That was a joke," she clarifies.

An irrepressible smile pulls at the side of my mouth. "Still doing that, huh?"

"That is correct."

For the moment, I can see that she's trying to mimic human behaviour, perhaps even deploying 'jokes' as a way of studying various reactions. Let's hope it stays this harmless.

"EDI, besides regular Alliance crew, who else is aboard?" I ask, still addressing her as I would the shackled AI that once served my ship.

"On this deck, Garrus is currently in the Main Battery, and Tali is currently in Port Observation, though she has requested that she not be disturbed whatever the circumstances."

"Oh, it would've been nice to speak with her again. We always got along well," I deadpan. "Yes, EDI, that was a joke. Sarcasm."

"Noted," she replies in polite acknowledgement.

"No one else?" I enquire, a little disappointed. At the very least, I was hoping to catch up with Liara.

"Former-Lazarus Cell Engineers, Daniels and Donnelly, are working on the deck below if you would like to speak with them."

Oriana shakes her head at me, frantically. Looks like she's already had the pleasure of that double act.

"No. No, thank you," I answer perhaps a little too hastily. Daniels is perfectly all right, but I don't think I can stomach Donnelly right now. No doubt Oriana feels the same.

"Shepard and the rest of his team are with Alliance command, planning the next mission, or may be off-duty elsewhere on the Citadel."

Damnit, I should be there! I should be on this operation. I should be at Shepard's side. Dr. Chakwas must have had me knocked out for a long while.

"Thank you, EDI. I assume they're meeting over at Bachjret Ward's warehouse district?" I'm sure I could just casually march in there once more. No big deal...

"I am not authorised to disclose information of that nature to non-Alliance personnel."

I wait but no clarification follows. "Very funny, EDI..."

"I hope you're not thinking of joining them," Dr. Chakwas interrupts disapprovingly. "Heaven forbid anyone tell you what to do, but I strongly advise you get some rest. Aggravating your injuries could cause serious complications. You've done more than enough. Take a break. You've earned it."

Despite the validity of her arguments, further supported by the ache now creeping back into my muscles, I can't help but protest. "I don't take breaks, I have to..."

"Randa..." Oriana pleads, drawing my attention to her. Just that is enough to cease my vexation and remind me of my responsibility.

"All right, all right..." I concede.

My plans will have to go on hold until I reunite Oriana with her parents. Though before we leave, I'd like to speak with Garrus. Then, I'll get something to eat.

I allow Oriana to help me up onto my feet, ready to depart.

"Dr. Chakwas... thank you. I am grateful for all you've done. Really."

"Your gratitude is appreciated, though not necessary," she replies. "I'm just doing my job, Ms. Lawson."

"All the best, doctor," I nod.

"Bye, Karin," Oriana smiles warmly, clearly having gotten to know her on friendlier terms than I ever had.

Outside in the mess hall, everything looks familiar except for a worryingly severe lack of lighting on top of a lack of life.

"Why's it so dark?" I wonder aloud, suspecting that EDI may feel inclined to provide an explanation.

She doesn't disappoint. "The Normandy was undergoing an Alliance retro-fit on Earth when it was attacked. A few of the systems were not fully operational at that time and, since then, other work has taken precedent."

"That was months ago. You can't have people wandering around in this much darkness, it's not good for morale. I'm not surprised this place is empty," I complain as if the ship were still under my command. Even if it's been rushing about the galaxy, aiding the war effort, you've still got to pay attention to basic needs as well.

"Randa," Oriana butts in excitedly, already headed towards the kitchen area. "Want me to grab you something to eat? They have these really tasty alcapurrias that James made. You'll want a drink though, that's for sure..."

"Not just yet," I reply absent-mindedly, in two minds over whether to revisit my old office-slash-quarters before meeting Garrus. I decide not to torment myself, and head straight towards the Main Battery. "You wait here, Ori. I just need to speak to someone."

Happily, she begins helping herself to some of the food while I head up the small set of steps and down past the cryogenic pods lining the walls on both sides. With the rounded passage's only illumination coming from the small strip lights above each unit, the dimness gives the strange impression that the room at the end had been built into a cave, much like a few covert mercenary bases and dig sites I'd 'visited'. Some more recently than I would have liked...

I find Garrus on one side of the cannon, basked in a dark red glow and absorbed in his work. Good to see some things never change...

I clear my throat with a dry cough before speaking. "Garrus..."

He pauses for a moment before facing me. I sense a hint of reluctance on his part. "Miranda, good to see you're up and about."

"Thanks. How are the weapons?" I ask, opening conversation on an innocuous line of enquiry. Most engineers or technicians I'd met would refer to their ship or weapons as a 'she' as a form of endearment. While no less fond of their military machines, turians differ here somewhat. Plus, I imagine things could get pretty confusing when your ship features an AI with a female voice.

"Still performing well. Can't say we've had much use for them, which I suppose would be a good thing. We're having to pick our battles at the moment," he comments bitterly.

"Are the crew all right?"

"We're soldiers. We survive."

"Garrus, it's me..."

"Honestly, no. There have been too many casualties. We've lost Earth, Palaven, Thessia..."

Thessia? Damnit. For me to have missed that it must have been very recent.

"And now seeing what was done on Horizon..." he trails off.

"That colony hasn't had a lot of luck in recent times," I remark, crossing my arms and looking at the floor glumly. I don't think anyone could stomach what was done there. Except maybe one person... "I didn't think it could've gotten any worse than the Collectors."

Garrus looks at me curiously. "That man was your father..."

With a measured tone, I clarify. "Estranged." Even when I lived under his roof.

"And now deceased," he adds dryly. "Seems our parents have a knack for messing us up one way or the other."

"He didn't deserve mercy," I state, as if that adds sense to the situation.

"Indeed. I heard what you did. And I understand why you wanted to get away." He pauses and his voice hardens. "Not that I think it was the right thing to do."

"I seem to recall a lone turian who, having incurred the wrath of every single merc on Omega, barricaded himself in his hideout, prepared to go down in some last, futile act of vengeance. It's a good job we were there to save your skin." I look at his face, while a smirk creeps onto my own. "Most of it, anyway."

He almost chuckles, but remains dour, sighing instead. "That was a different time. I learned my lesson. See it in the mirror every day. And I'm actually thankful for that..." He deactivates his visor and locks both his cold blue eyes on mine. "Wounds heal. What's left behind are the real scars...and they can affect the people closest to you."

I swallow and try my best not to look as small as I feel at this very moment. Crossing my arms doesn't seem to help as much as I thought. Trust me to find myself in a position where Shepard's Spectre status would help, but I'd have to explain how I abused his trust in the first place. I'd rather fix this myself.

Without breaking the stare, I offer the only explanation I can. "It's...complicated."

"Always is. We all bottle things up. Trick is to make sure it explodes in the right direction." Or make sure you're far enough from everyone when it happens...

Nothing more to say, I nod sombrely and breathe a heavy sigh. "Garrus...look after him. For me."

He nods back. "Look after yourself."

I stare down at the floor, at nothing, a moment longer before walking away and rejoining Oriana.

She's sitting at one of the tables, a lone bright spot in the gloomy mess hall, and smiles at me when I approach.

"Come on, Ori. Let's go."

"Not yet. You haven't had anything to eat," she reminds me patiently.

"I'll find something once we're away from here."

"Nuh-uh. Not good enough," she says shaking her head theatrically.

"Ori, please..."

Studying my expression, she sees how serious I am, and grudgingly complies, getting to her feet. "I'm _at least_ grabbing you something to eat on the way. That's not up for debate."

"You've got yourself a deal," I agree, trying not to appear so difficult. She's already rushing over to fulfil her end before I can finish the sentence, stuffing some small packets and bars inside her jacket.

During the short elevator ride and the walk through the CIC, she doesn't stop taking concerned peeks at me in-between marvelling at the ship's interior. I suppose all this is fascinating the first time you see it, rather than the routine trek it had once been for me.

Unlike Dr. Chakwas' guess, the front of the ship is empty. Which I'm thankful for, given that a conversation with 'EDI the robot' would be a little more than I care to process right now.

While the Normandy is docked, the airlock is open-access, allowing us to disembark without any trouble. That is, until we get partway across the docking area and encounter someone who's been waiting for me the whole time.

Like a dark cloud come to ruin the bright day into which we'd just emerged is 'John' and a group of Alliance soldiers, armed and ready, blocking the walkway. I glance over my shoulder to find the Normandy's guards have temporarily shifted their priorities in order to assist in the arrest. This is exactly what I feared might happen before I could distance myself from Shepard and Oriana.

"Ms. Lawson...and Little Miss Lawson. Funny how things wind up in the last place you think to look," he says, sounding far too pleased with himself. The bastard has an awful tendency to appear at the worst moment. Though, to be fair, he was never going to find a good moment.

There's no escape, no hope of fighting my way out and no way to save Oriana from this.

The satisfied smile on John's face is begging to be removed, and I'd happily disregard any warnings about 'aggravating my injuries' in order to do so. Though, ultimately, it wouldn't achieve anything.

Oriana looks at me, as bewildered as when I faced down my...our father. I have to try something at least.

"Leave her out of this..." I start, before realising that my confrontational attitude had not worked during all our previous meetings. "Please," I add, gritting my teeth and failing to sound in any way sympathetic. "Let her walk away and I'll come willingly."

I thrust my wrists forward, ready to be handcuffed, displaying an eagerness to cooperate.

"I'd quite like to see the alternative," he taunts, stepping closer. "No, she's coming with us. The poor child's father has just died. She must be distraught."

That smile appears once more.

_Oh, to hell with it..._

I launch myself at him and land a fierce right hook, hearing a gasp from Oriana. John tumbles backwards into the arms of his Alliance colleagues, who fail to keep him on his feet. The few soldiers that he doesn't collide with, step forward, their weapons raised threateningly. I raise my hands and step away, feeling a twinge of pain in my back. It was worth it.

I sneer at him on the floor as the Alliance soldiers surround me, withdrawing the handcuffs. "That was the alternative."

* * *

**A/N: And there goes the chapter where only half was initially planned (guess which). Apologies to anyone who was expecting more 'Miranda on the Normandy' stuff. This story is meant to fit in with the ME3 story and tone; so, it's all misery without company, I'm afraid. Perhaps it's all downhill from here...**

**Though, I will point out that Oriana had a brief tour of the Normandy and a chat with Shepard. Plus, there might just be a flashback featuring Shepard, at some point in the future (did that sentence make sense?)**

**Thanks to Seracen Beta for the help with Garrus' dialogue, and a big thanks to all you lovely readers, of course!**

**EDIT 4/4 : To clarify what I said before, and perhaps allay some concerns. I am not planning to portray (or endorse) a particular canon ending - that's all I can say on that. I apologise if you feel misled about what direction the story is taking, but that was always my intention and I figured the earlier instances made that clear. If you want to stop reading, I understand and harbour no ill will, but I hope you'll reserve judgement until you see what I have planned. Either way, I am grateful to know that you have enjoyed, and perhaps will continue to enjoy, this story.  
**

**Also, I may stop including author's notes from now on (besides the usual thanks, of course) as I tend to ramble on... =p**


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

It's starting to look like I have no real say in where I go, lately. I've managed to wind up at the Alliance base on Bachjret Ward, after all. However, I'm not in some grand war room, assisting with plans for the big push against Cerberus. I'm in the smallest, stuffiest room that 'John' could find, awaiting my interrogation.

The armed guard by the door watches me warily even as I shift a little in my chair, hoping to find a comfortable position despite my arms being cuffed behind my back. She'd probably have a colleague if the space allowed it. As far as I can tell, this is a repurposed store cupboard. Wonderful...

After a while, John enters, sporting a split lip to match my own and displaying enough cold contempt that I'd swear the sudden draught wasn't entirely due to the door opening. In an unhurried manner, he politely greets the guard and takes his place at the opposite side of the thick metal desk. Then, leaning back in the chair, he crosses his arms and stares at me for a few moments.

Already impatient, I take it upon myself to break the silence. "Nice office. Did you get a promotion?"

"How long are you going to keep this up?" he asks wearily, shaking his head.

"It must be embarrassing to have chosen a room this small and still not be the smartest one in it."

"I'm not your enemy, Lawson," he sighs, moving his hands onto the table and locking his fingers together.

"You're certainly not my friend. I saved your life! Whereas you've shot at me once, arrested me twice, and pursued me endlessly." Although he claims different, my voice slips into that low register I reserve for my true enemies. "And now you have the nerve to walk in here without mention of my sister."

"She's fine," he answers nonchalantly.

"Where is she?"

"She's safe. Don't worry."

"She has nothing to do with this. You already have me."

"Ah, but I don't have your cooperation."

"I gave you the Illusive Man's base of operations. Almost got myself killed in the process. How much more cooperation do you need?"

From my agitated movement, a strand of hair falls across my face. I'm forced to try and shake it away, seeing as I don't have a free hand. In doing so, I detect a small hint of amusement from John. He's lucky I'm restrained and having even the slightest movement watched by his guard, because I'd do a hell of a lot more than punch him right now.

"I need to verify that you're not working some other angle. Turning on Cerberus after twenty years of loyal service?" He shakes his head. "Just doesn't sit right with me."

"That's not Cerberus. Not the one I joined. It was meant to protect humanity, serve its interests and prepare for the Reapers when no one else would. I can't claim that everything we did was of benefit, but I always worked towards those goals. What I did was for the greater good." No use mentioning how my own research into a control chip had paved the way for the work that my father had been doing.

"For as long as I can remember, Cerberus has done lots of things in the name of the greater good. A lot of stupid, dangerous, lethal things."

"You want me to show some remorse? Is that it?" I knew what they'd done. I wasn't personally responsible for those missteps and aggressive displays of power, but I'd let them happen, convinced myself that the long-term benefits would be worth it. As long as I kept doing good work, the bad performed by others didn't matter so much.

"I just want an explanation," he says plainly.

"They crossed a line." One I'd already redrawn many times before. "You saw Sanctuary. Even the Illusive Man is indoctrinated, I'm sure of it. Cerberus needs to be stopped."

He raises a sceptical eyebrow. "Simple as that?"  
I nod faintly. "Simple as that."

"So I assume there's an equally simple explanation for the last time you were here?"

"A simple misunderstanding. One I aim to...clarify."

"Mind clarifying who received that hefty sum of Alliance funds?"

Ah, Ryn, my nervy salarian information broker. Good luck trying to follow _that_ money trail.

"I planted a tracer _on_ Kai Leng. To ensure that you don't lose the signal from something so small, wherever it goes in the galaxy, requires someone with enough connections. And that person requires payment." I can see he's mulling it over in his mind. Shrugging cockily, I add, "I paid no more than the standard rate."

"All right, good, we're getting somewhere," he says, sounding satisfied that the explanation adds up, before his face drops and his words turn blunt again. "Next question: where's the stolen intel?"

I take a moment to look him in the eye, softening my expression; anything to communicate my honesty as much as possible, given that I'm unable to utilise other significant aspects of body language. I suppose that's my own fault; without the handcuffs, I'd expect a closed fist over an open palm if I were him.

"I don't know...but I intend to find out," I state sternly, perhaps revealing that I know more than I care to let on.

If John has realised, he's too caught up in his own bluster to acknowledge it. "So this 'simple misunderstanding' came about because of what? Your own stupidity? Extremely sensitive data was stolen."

I swallow a lungful of air along with my pride before huffing my answer. "I was the patsy here. I made the mistake. There, I admit it. Does that satisfy you?"

"Should it?" he asks calmly, shifting back from what must have been a calculated outburst. "There was only a small window of opportunity after you cracked the security. If I'm to assume you weren't directly responsible, that still takes a degree of coordination. Either way, there's a second party involved. So, we'll start with the most likely candidate: who got you into the base?"

_Shepard._

"No one," I reply blankly.

There wouldn't be any repercussions for Shepard if I did tell the truth, but I couldn't bear him finding out what I'd done. It's bad enough that Oriana's been caught up in this mess. I can fix this myself. I _will_ fix this myself.

John gives me another one of those frustrated sighs. "You look like crap, you're tired and I know you don't want to be here a second longer than you have to. Problem is, your heroics on Horizon don't change the fact that I have more than enough to keep you here for the time being...if I'm so inclined." He leans forward. "And, believe it or not, I'd like to help you. But not without something in return. If I'm to make sure my own house is in order, I need to know: who's your inside man?"

He's right: I am tired, and starting to long for the numbness of Dr. Chakwas' painkillers. That doesn't mean I'm just going to roll over though. I need some answers of my own anyway.

Ignoring his question, I begin my own enquiry. "The tracer I gave you. You took it to Zada Ban..."

"I sent a lot of men there, ready to engage Cerberus forces. A lot of men who could've been helping against Reaper forces. We found the weapons facility...eventually. Abandoned. Another thing you got wrong."

"And they weren't followed at all?"

He shakes his head, pleased, as if I were relying on it being the opposite answer.

If the place really had been evacuated and no hit squad came after the tracer, it means someone tipped them off.

_Erin._

I'd intended to confront her myself; tie up that loose end, away from prying eyes. Whether she was truly helping or not, she had become a liability both to me and Cerberus. At least I'd show more mercy. But could I hand her over to the Alliance? It's not as if I have much choice, and trading my freedom for hers seems fair. Plus, I wouldn't have been so sought after if they had managed to follow the tracer back to its true owner.

"So, I give up my 'inside man' and I'm free to go. Simple as that?" I ask, the cynicism bleeding into my voice.

He nods sincerely. "Simple as that."

"I don't buy it."

His tone becomes a little more pleasant, but honestly so, and without that hint of arrogance that usually accompanies it. "If I'm straight with you, that little stunt at Sanctuary was enough to win over the higher-ups in the Alliance."

"Perhaps they'll build a statue of me on the Citadel," I remark drily. "But you're not convinced?"

"This was never personal, Lawson. I think you got in over your head. All I need is your source, then I'll make my judgement."

He's dedicated and professional, I'll give him that. Not many would have been able to track me across the galaxy, even fewer would have offered any sort of deal in the first place. It would have been much simpler to try and kill me on sight. And he's taken the punch in his stride; he knew how to rile me. Chances are, he could get more reliable intel from Erin.

"All right. I'll cooperate, but while we're showing our cards, I want to know: who sold me out?"

"You wouldn't know them."

"Give me some names, I'll see what catches," I propose sarcastically.

The words trigger his memory. He smiles. "Scuttlebutt."

"It was worth a shot," I finish.

Stepping through those old-fashioned, big wooden doors, I enter Erin's office a little more reservedly than perhaps I should. Not being in control of the situation always makes me uncomfortable, and I'm tired of this routine. So tired. John agreeing to stay back and let me run this my way first is only a small consolation.

Inside, it's as if Erin hasn't moved since I last saw her, except maybe to change clothes and dim the lights. She's behind her ill-matched desk, working her way through the liquor cabinet—onto the whiskey now, it seems. A nearby lamp doesn't offer a warm glow, serving only to emphasise her drained features. She's looking even worse than before.

Without diverting any more attention than necessary from her task, she greets me sourly. "I must've seen you more in the past few months than in the previous couple of decades."

She's probably right. I'd mostly avoided her in the intervening years. Ever since she found me that day on the beach I'd always held onto that bitterness, pushing it to one side when it came to business but never doing anything to resolve my feelings. Now look at us.

"Erin, you've been selling me half a story. Remember what I told you last time? I want answers."

"Don't we all?" she muses miserably. The response confirms one thing at least: her mood. She's running cold today. Ice cold.

I continue my approach, right up to the desk, where I stay silent, arms hanging at my side. I'd managed to get some rest on the way here, which went some way towards alleviating the muscle ache, but it did nothing to calm my thoughts.

After a moment, Erin lifts her eyes to examine me. The worst of my injuries are hidden, just like my own emotions right now, but even she can tell something's not right. "Miranda, what's going on?"

"I should ask the same of you. Those names you passed on? False lead."

"Well, that's all I've got. So if you'd kindly leave me in peace..."

I slam a fist down on the desk, startling her, causing some of the drink to leap from her glass. "You set me up! I want to know why."

She doesn't appear flustered by the deliberate outburst, but sits up straight, offended in response. "Miranda, I have no idea what you mean."

"Oh, don't play dumb. What's Cerberus planning?"

"I don't know," she insists, setting her drink down. "Perhaps you'd better explain the situation."

"I just need your side of things. I get the feeling I've been led in a merry little dance and I won't be leaving until somebody pays the piper," I threaten.

She gives me a patronising look. "Really, do you think I'm some sort of mastermind? I'm trying to look out for you, Miranda." She grabs and finishes her drink with a strong swig and immediately shifts focus to pouring another. I wait, sensing she has more to say. "The galaxy's not out to get you. I know that's how your father raised you, but if you didn't keep everyone at arm's length maybe you'd realise it."

She _knows_ those words would irk me.

"I'm not like my father," I feel compelled to assert. I'm alive, for one.

My comment receives a doubtful look from Erin before she continues. "They're watching my every move, Miranda. I'm stuck in the middle, trying to balance my 'loyalties'. Cerberus wants you dead, nothing more. I managed to convince them you could be of use. If I gave you the run-around, it was to spare you from the firing line, from people like Kai Leng. It's the best I could do. _There's_ your answer."

It would appear she hasn't been paying attention to the news, or at least the details that the Alliance were willing to divulge. If she's telling the truth, that would account for why it was hard to pin down her allegiances. This revelation is beginning to trouble me.

"I don't need people looking out for me. You should've told me. You should've jumped ship," I argue.

"And go where?" She buries her nose in her glass, drinking deep. "Besides, I have no one. Better I stay and try to do something useful. In time, they told me, I'd get a role at Sanctuary, looking after human refugees. That would've been nice... but it sounds like that's gone to hell as well. So, here I am."

The realisation hits like a knife to the heart, and a feeling of dread takes hold. That explains it. She really has no idea about the greater schemes of Cerberus. And she probably doesn't know anything about the stolen data either. In trying to help, she'd been used just like I had. That leaves a lot of loose ends.

And the worst bit is that John overheard this confession.

"I wish you hadn't said that," I mutter, hanging my head low. Erin looks at me, puzzled.

As I suspected he would, John picks that moment to make his presence known, appearing at my back with a couple of Alliance soldiers following behind. He doesn't step between us, and wears a blank expression while remaining perfectly silent. He's still respecting my wishes to take the lead.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Erin demands in a loud croak, slamming her glass down and shooting to her feet upon spotting them.

"I'm sorry, Erin. I couldn't be sure you weren't working against me. They're Alliance Intelligence," I explain, barely able to look her in the eye.

If her hands are as dirty as she fears, they'll find out. The best I can do for her now is find the ones responsible and convince the Alliance of her worth. My work is never done.

"Oh, Miranda..." she bemoans, sounding like a disappointed parent. "How long are you going to carry that weight? So bloody single-minded. With or against? You sound just like-"

Knowing what's coming, I interrupt. "I found my father, Erin. He was on Sanctuary. I'll spare you the details of what was happening there - of what _happened_ there – and just tell you that I found Oriana."

"Miranda, I didn't know..."

We share a mournful stare as I suppress the impulse to cry, remembering the techniques I'd learned as a Cerberus agent.

Why couldn't she have been allied with my father? Things would be so much easier...

"It's all right," I assure her, filling the silence more than anything. My hands start to quiver and I tuck them behind my back, which I then feel the need to straighten, giving me the overly formal appearance of a soldier standing at ease.

"Oriana is safe?" she asks hopeful. I nod despondently. "Good. That's good," she says with a faint voice.

"I'll fix this," I try and reassure her before saying my farewell, the words almost sticking in my throat.

I turn and head towards the washed out whiteness of the lobby, while the Alliance guards take it as their cue to move in. Passing John, I see him open his mouth to say something to me. Whether it's to gloat or pity, I don't care.

"Not a word," I warn him, without breaking step. He gets the message.

I deserve to be alone.

* * *

**A/N: Another 'feel good' chapter, I think you'll agree. I _promise_ the next one will be cheerier.**

**Big thanks to Awska, Seracen Beta and sunzeng for the feedback. All were most hopeful in different ways, and the chapter benefitted greatly. I highly recommend you check out their own pieces on the site as well.**

**And, of course, thank you to everyone else who's still reading!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

John had kept his word. I was free to go, and Erin was in custody.

A knot of pain still sits in my chest, and I doubt it'll be dislodged anytime soon. Erin's predicament had been my fault, but more than that, I had been wrong. She'd pulled enough strings that she gave the impression of a puppet master, one who knew the script. It didn't help that she'd kept Cerberus' involvement in Sanctuary a secret, even if it hadn't been for the obvious reason.

I still wanted a part in the investigation, but that was going to be tricky. The Alliance had confiscated my broken omni-tool containing all my gathered intel. The safeguards would've scrubbed it, but I hadn't been able to back up anything since my last visit to the Citadel. I'd shown my cards and lost that hand, now I wasn't sure I could pay the blind for the next one. Fortunately, that isn't the only game in town. There are other sources, other loose ends.

For now, however, I need to see Oriana reunited with her parents. The Alliance had been unable to locate them, which was more an indication of how well concealed I'd kept her 'normal life' rather than a sign that something terrible had happened. Ultimately, albeit reluctantly, they'd agreed to release her into my custody.

She meets me outside the Alliance base, in a far cheerier mood than I expected, even compared to me.

When we're in close proximity, and before I can even say a word, she throws her arms around me and hugs me tightly. It's appreciated, but I can't help blushing at the public display. Her mood must be rubbing off on me as I can feel the tension in my shoulders dissipate.

"Ori, it's good to see you," I start, hoping she'll end the gesture now that it's lasted for a few seconds. "I'm sorry to put you through all this."

She lets go and smiles amusedly, "You don't have to apologise for anything."

"Come on. Let's get you home." I smile back and begin walking away towards the nearest transit hub.

There's a slight bit of hesitation from her as a thought flashes across her features. Was she expecting to stay with me? The moment passes and she joins me, staying in-step with a natural ease, never once appearing unsure of our direction.

"Did they treat you all right?" I enquire, studying her for any signs of distress or mistreatment.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replies. The brevity can't help but nag at my thoughts. She's definitely hiding something. Had the Alliance told her all they knew about me? My history with Cerberus...

I don't press the issue. I'd rather not jump the gun a second time.

During our journey, she stays silent and occupies herself with the sights. Unsure of what to say myself, I join her in observing the passing groups of aliens, going about their usual business; the soldiers heading back and forth, to and from their deployments; the almost pristine sheen of every surface, where curved architecture meets newer, sharper constructions. The serene atmosphere of it all once again betrays any sense of danger or ruin in the greater galaxy.

It's then that I realise Oriana has never been to the Citadel before. Against her wishes, I'd always secretly conspired and found some way to keep her within easy reach of my own network of trusted contacts. Lanteia had been quite adept at manipulating Illium's systems and organisations to that end. I was never happy limiting Oriana's horizons like that, but it was for her own good, her own protection. And I'd kept her safe for nearly two decades.

Once I've arranged to rent a shuttle and we're on the lot, Oriana speaks up with an odd request.

"Randa...could we go to this ward's residential district?"

"Ori..." I urge, sensing now is the time for her to come clean.

She exhales uneasily. "I...I have some temporary accommodation there."

I take hold of her shoulder, leading her off to the side and await an explanation.

"I couldn't find an easy way to tell you," Oriana starts, barely perturbed by my reaction. "I was being looked after by some of the staff while you were...elsewhere. We got to talking, and they told me all about what the Alliance is doing and we talked about my own studies and my plans and...and they offered me a job."

"A job? That's...interesting." I comment, concentrating more on remaining supportive.

What could they want with her? I'd guess that the Alliance were attempting to keep her away from me if that didn't seem a little too paranoid.

She beams, clearly excited by the prospect. "I couldn't refuse. When this is all over, I'll be involved in re-establishing colonies! It's like a dream job. I'll get to travel the galaxy, work out the contracts, plan the settl...no, mustn't get ahead of myself. It'll just be general admin at first. For now, I'll help with looking after refugees. Apparently, the Citadel's getting a little crowded so they're setting up places elsewhere."

Worry emerges in my mind, if not on my face. It's good that she has hope for the future, doing what she wanted to do, but I'd rather see her safe and sound, out of any dangerous areas, if I can help it.

"Don't you want to get back to your parents? They've been worried sick."

"I do. Of course, I do. I just didn't want to miss my chance to do some good."

Prioritising a desire to do good over personal wellbeing? Now who does that sound like...

"I'm...I'm pleased to hear that, Ori," I say, putting on my best smile. She sees right through it instantly.

"Randa, what's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that. I'm your twin, I recognise that face. Whenever I smile insincerely or politely, there are small gaps at either side of my mouth. My friends say it's a dead giveaway. So, 'fess up."

Huh. Can't say I'd ever noticed that.

"_'Fess up_," I repeat in a mocking manner.

"Randa..."

"All right. I just...I don't think that's the best place for you. These are people who have lost everything. Emotions will be running high, and a lot of tensions still exist between certain races. Helping out may seem admirable and romantic, I know, but it's not safe. What would Burton say?"

Her adoptive father had always displayed a caring, protective nature. And he was almost nothing like my own father. All factors that made him an ideal candidate.

"He would want me to be happy," she asserts, before purposefully adding, "and Jen would be proud."

Ah, yes, she'd been fortunate enough to have a mother who was a good role model. At the time, when selecting suitable parents, my only real criterion for one was 'being there'. As far as I could tell, a lot of her drive came from her mother, and she'd been better for it. Plus, I think being a mother had brought out another side to Jen that I'd not seen during my initial investigation.

I sigh. "You really want this, don't you?"

"Yes," she answers firmly. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, Randa, but you can get a tad overprotective."

It's an uncomfortable truth. I had been smothering her a bit too much perhaps. Fortunately, it's not too late to make amends.

"All right," I concede guiltily, "but I have to make another stop first."

And so we ride over to our first destination, with Oriana explaining how our talks had inspired her desire to see the rest of the galaxy. She enquires about some of my travels, but I remain reticent on the finer details of the work while struggling to actually remember much outside of it. Regardless, she seems content with what little I can tell her, listening intently.

When we arrive at one of the less wholesome parts of Zakera Ward, Oriana makes to disembark with me.

"Stay in the skycar," I order her. Her presence would hinder my efforts, and she really doesn't need an initiation into my world, my work. Plus, Jogom wasn't the most pleasant of people to be around anyway. He'd either be unreceptive or a little _too_ receptive to seeing the both of us.

"I thought you were trying to watch over me," she argues.

"I am. It'll be safer here." I point at the console and give out instructions. "This button should lock the doors after I'm gone...and I think one of these will play music so you don't get bored. I'll try not to be too long."

Letting her arms fall to her sides, she huffs and drops back down into her seat, where she begins gently tapping a foot impatiently. I forget that she's still a teenager – for a little while longer anyway – but I certainly remember that feeling...

I march hastily down a few of the side streets, through one of the ramshackle yet official marketplaces, ignoring the suspicious looks from shady-looking individuals as I pass, and head down another set of steps into the gloom of the lower levels where little more than neon signs offer illumination. During the descent, the clack of my footsteps becomes more pronounced as echoes of the hustle and bustle above recede with no such liveliness to replace them.

Navigating the relatively narrow corridors, I stay on my guard. I don't expect trouble, but it's been a while since I last visited, and things do change. Eventually, I spot the first sign of Jogom's presence: a lookout in the form of a scruffy boy. One whose name I'd neglected to learn the last time, thinking I'd never see him again given the short life expectancy of duct rats. He recognises me and immediately scurries off round a corner. I follow, catching up just as he's finished alerting Jogom who sits in one corner of an intersection in the alleyways, casually perched on a container. At the man's command, the boy disappears down one of the paths.

"Hey, buns," the black market dealer perks up, greeting me with a dirty grin. Although it's cleaner, his attire is not a great deal better than his lookout's, with a mismatch of colours and styles topped off with an ill-judged new addition of a cap; all of it ever so slightly too large for his short and slight frame. Fortunately, his line of work favours connections and cash over appearances. Or terms of address.

"Hey, Jo" I respond, staying in character and masking my distaste at the nickname. "Long time, no see."

"That's just a mark of the quality and endurance of my goods, you know," he boasts, rising to his feet while proudly pointing a finger upwards. "Though it's always good to see you a little more often. Pleasure must be allowed to override business on some occasions, I think."

"But, of course," I agree, putting on one of those fake smiles Oriana had identified before flashing my eyebrows. "Nice hat, by the way."

"You like it, huh? I've always considered myself a connoisseur of fashion," he says adjusting it and then pinching the lapels of his jacket, pleased. Flattery always works wonders on people like Jogom. "The outfit says that I'm a serious man, but the cap tells people that I have a fun side, as well."

"Uh-huh," I agree, struggling even harder not to break character.

"You could do with shaking things up a bit, too. How long have you been wearing that catsuit now?"

"This isn't a catsuit, Jo. It's a jacket and trousers," I correct him a little too harshly.

"See? Something tells me I'm not the only person to make that mistake. All the more reason to make a change. And it just so happens that I know a look that mixes class with a dash of frivolity."

"Indulge me."

Seeing him lick his lips and rub his hands together gives me the feeling that I'm going to regret this.

"Firstly, I'd get some jewellery, put your hair up..." He notices my doubtful expression but continues anyway. "And you want a short skirt... wait, let me finish...with a long jacket. The perfect combination. Show off some leg, yet still be able to cover it up if need be, you know?"

I'm not sure exactly what I was expecting...but that sounds worse.

"It's probably best if you stick to dressing yourself," is the politest sentiment I can find. "Where's Bimik?" I enquire, eager to change the subject.

By now his uncharacteristically jolly krogan bodyguard would be loitering somewhere in view, voraciously devouring the same brand of a certain local delicacy without a care for the lack of menace exuded by his behaviour.

"Because I am a generous and caring employer, I have given him leave to visit Tuchanka. The guy's gone to put the wad back in his quad," he claims proudly. Vulgar _and_ scientifically inaccurate. How lovely. I detect a hint of animosity in his smile and voice as he continues. "Not that it'll do him any good, of course. The big guy's more interested in food than females, and who'd even look at him? No, the only action he'll ever see involves a varren and his leg."

If I were to guess, I'd say that the separation was not mutually agreed but more aggressively secured in Bimik's favour. Having witnessed the krogan's temper before, I can't blame Jo for yielding. And I can't resist poking.

"How long's he been gone?" I ask innocently.

"A month or so," he coughs before bringing his hands together in a loud clap as if to will the conversation elsewhere. "Enough about me. What brings you to my labyrinth of luxury?" he asks, spreading his arms wide in mock exhibitionism.

I'm compelled to utter a small giggle at his display, all while closing the gap between us. "The usual. A girl's gotta protect herself."

"Simple. You need a good, strong man," he says, flexing his muscles and grinning. If only he knew...

"It would never work, Jo." I move to his side and speak close to his ear, stifling the urge to recoil from the heavy whiff of expensive but overdone cologne. "Pleasure would override business a little too often, wouldn't you say?"

"Oh, Lorna, why you got to break my heart?" He clutches his chest with both hands and drops back down into his seat. A second later, the act comes to an abrupt end as business takes priority. He leaps to his feet, forcing me to step back a little in the process, and then begins tapping away on his omni-tool while reciting the order. "OK, so a Loc' and a 'Fex with the usual mods. Sure I can't convince you to go with the Paladin? It's like I told you, no other pistol will give you that much punch with that much stability." He winks. A shiver runs down my spine. "Plus! Plus, that heating issue that so concerned you last time? I sorted it."

"I'm sure you did and I'm flattered, but I'm not made of money, Jo." Before the words have even left my lips, the unwelcome connection has formed in my mind. _He's gone for good, Miranda. Forget about him._ "And I'll need omnis. Three of them," I add without missing a step.

"Three?" his eyes widen in surprise.

"I have a habit of misplacing them," I shrug coyly.

His mood turns serious for a moment. "Not in public places, I hope."

"You know me." I slip into a sultry tone. "I'm a very private girl."

He clicks his fingers as a thought occurs. "It just so happens that I have a great deal on some brand new Kassas."

"Oh, Jo, tell me you didn't," I chide him, having an idea what's happened. And it looks like getting some information will be a little easier than I thought. If he's been duped over some excess stock, I'm wondering who else can get their hands on so much at a time like this. And where it could be going...

"I must plead ignorance on this one," he shrugs innocently.

"Ignorance is right. I know you're proud of getting your hands on the Polaris - as only you could - before it even hit the market, but Kassa's omnis still fall way behind everyone else's. Who fed you this and how many did they take you for?"

"Pace. He told me the company had hired a load of ex-Aldrin Labs boffins. Said the stuff had 'made leaps and bounds'," he admits sheepishly before angrily turning and slamming the bottom of his fist against the closest wall. "I bought a hundred of the damn things, and I can't shift them!"

"Look at it this way, you have discerning customers. That's a good thing. Not a lot of businessman manage that. And you're a smart man, you'll figure something out." I need to wrap this up. It sounds like Pace could be a lead worth investigating but I'm not sure I can learn much more here, and Oriana's waiting.

He takes up his omni-tool again, looking embarrassed as his rage subsides. "Right, so, the guns and three Savants," he looks up at me, hopeful and adds, "The price has gone up since last time if you want to reconsider the Kassas..."

"Oh, Jo, now you're breaking _my_ heart. It's as if you want to me find another man to fulfil my needs. And it sounds like Pace could be the one," I tease while pouting slightly.

"Do not mention that name to me again. Please." He sighs and adjusts his hat uncomfortably. "All right, all right. I don't do this for everyone though, you know? Same rates as before, but that's your warning. Next time, prices go up."

"Jo, you're the man." I lean in and give him a peck on the cheek while using the opportunity to speak in his ear. "You know where to send it."

He nods and smiles as I purposely sashay towards the exit, turning back to give a delicate wave; the kind where the fingers all quickly close into the palm one after the other, from little finger to index.

There's no doubt about it, I'm glad Oriana wasn't here to see all this.

Once we finally arrive at Oriana's apartment and get through the front door, I waste no time sharing my thoughts.

"I don't like it."

"What? It looks great," Oriana argues, stepping past me and into the open space.

The place is eerily reminiscent of Jamie's apartment on Arvuna. Or one of the various safehouses I used to frequent. It's drab, valuing functionality over character. From the entrance area I can already see the lounge, demarcated only by a change in the flooring, and in the immediate corner to the left is a kitchenette with accompanying counter and stools. On the plus side, it's already furnished. The kitchen has all the necessary units built in, and the lounge contains a vidscreen and console in the far corner, with a basic red sofa and accompanying side tables pointing towards them. Though as far as I can see, there is no further decoration or furniture. Beyond all that is a door that must connect to the bedroom, complete with an en suite bathroom, both likely just as plain-featured.

"It's a little...basic, Ori."

"Works for me," she shrugs.

"Can you hear that?"

"No..."

"That faint drone. Some dissonance..." I step into the kitchen area and gesture towards the fridge. "There, that's a low D. And...and this coffeemaker is humming a high E-flat. That sort of thing can cause stress. It's already bothering me. You really can't hear it?"

She frowns and crosses her arms. "Perhaps it's the ringing in your ears."

"I'm just looking out for you. We can always go elsewhere. Just say the word."

"No, I like it here. It's cosy! It's mine...for the moment anyway" She grabs my arm and tugs me away. "Go, sit down and _relax_ while I fix us some coffee."

"All right, I get the message." I raise my hands in a show of compliance and make my way over to lounge.

I take a seat and allow myself to sink back into the surprisingly comfortable cushioning. Behind me, I can hear Ori searching through all the cupboards and fiddling with the machine.

"They said the console should have some vids if you want to put something on," she calls.

"I think I'd prefer some peace for a bit," I answer back, though without raising my voice.

Peace was never something I'd experienced, and probably never would. In the moment of quiet, my head floods with thoughts. Of Jamie's fate. Of Erin's.

Of Shepard's...

We're both so focused on our duties that any worries or doubts are suppressed, locked away in the back of the mind lest they trip us up. Or until our worst fears confront us head on.

What could have been going through his mind when he saw me laid up in the Normandy's med-bay? _"They almost had to drag him away,"_ Dr. Chakwas had told me. _"Oriana wasn't the only one you gave quite a scare."_

I could've become another person the war took from him. And how it would hit him hard. I'd always tried to spare myself from experiencing that deep sense of loss. By remaining strictly professional and keeping an emotional distance, the most I ever felt was a miserable form of anger or shame any time I lost good people. Even my grief over Niket was buried beneath thoughts about Oriana and Shepard, and an overriding devotion to our mission against the Collectors.

Whereas Shepard...Shepard had nearly always made an effort to empathise with his crew. I only have to think back to our beginnings. Losing friends and people he'd become close to must be far worse. No question. And it wasn't over yet.

By now, the assault on the Illusive Man's base of operations would be underway. The organisation would be dealt a severe blow, but that would still leave a large part of the forces scattered. Those leftovers would need cleaning up.

"OK, I think I've found everything. How do you take it?" Oriana's voice breaks me from my reverie.

I ponder, turning to face her. "Huh..."

"Your coffee..." Ah, yes.

_"Black as the Devil, sweet as a stolen kiss,"_ I nearly respond, recalling an old saying that matched my tastes. While I generally prefer tea, strong coffee had gotten me through many long days and nights of work.

"Black, please, with about half a spoon of sugar," becomes my earnest answer.

"That might bring you back into the world," she comments. "Ready in a moment."

Upon hearing the gurgles and hissing of the coffeemaker, my mind starts to drift again, back to Sanctuary's labs and the pneumatic sound of the machinery, and the sight of...

Maybe I will put something on...

I fetch the console's remote and settle back into my seat before activating it. The screen comes to life instantly, displaying the menu of vids. Having always found my own entertainment from reading and music whenever I could spare the time, I only have a faint idea what any of these titles are. Fortunately, they seem to come with some form of description.

Let's see...

_A Clash of Clans._

_'Nuclear Winter Is Coming'. Epic fantasy series. Tumultuous Tuchanka is home to many clans but no true leader. Warlords across the planet fight and scheme for supremacy, heedless to the threat of a new breed of mutated krogan and further nuclear devastation._

I don't think I'm in the mood for that...

_NYPD Blue._

_Gritty police drama series set in the fictional 15th precinct of the Nova Yekaterinburg colony, exploring the everyday struggles of its law enforcement agents._

Probably another one of those police procedurals. And I don't need any reminders of my recent visit to Therum.

_Orshan's Eleven._

_Danee Orshan is a volus with a plan. In this feature-length crime-caper, he assembles an eclectic and talented team of aliens for his biggest most daring heist yet: three of Bekenstein's top casinos in one night. Featuring an all-star cast from across the galaxy._

That sounds like it might be exhausting to follow.

_Zhack._

_Action-comedy/spy-drama series. When an average human unwittingly downloads a database of Council secrets into his brain, it's up to an asari Spectre and a Systems Alliance agent to protect him without disrupting his everyday life._

That sounds utterly absurd. And I've had my fill of Alliance agents lately.

Oriana joins me with the drinks, setting them down on the tables and taking a place on the sofa. "There we go. Ooh, what are we watching?"

"I can't say that anything really stands out. What do you want to watch?"

"Do they have any Blasto vids?" she asks enthusiastically. That's a title that sounds familiar.

Happy to watch whatever she's interested in, I begin searching for it while asking her to enlighten me as to what makes them so appealing.

"They're these really cheesy action vids starring a hanar Spectre called Blasto," she explains. "They used to be more like exploitation films but they started taking themselves a bit seriously. The older ones are a good, light watch though. Something to take your mind off things. And I can tell you need some help switching off."

I don't think it's quite that easy, but it's worth a try.

"Here we are. Blasto 4: The Reckoning." Bit of an ostentatious sounding subtitle...

"Oh, that's a good one," Oriana confirms.

After the titles, the vid opens on a hectic shuttle chase across a skyline that closely resembles Illium's. Straddling the top of pursuing shuttle, tentacles outstretched, is the titular Hanar. He leaps onto the fleeing vehicle and demands that its occupants, "Dock immediately," politely adding that he will, "not be inclined to reiterate the request."

Already I suspect that watching this will require a heavy dose of suspending my disbelief.

As it turns out, the Spectre never gets a chance to repeat his command as the vehicle begins to collides with numerous other shuttles, presumably in an attempt to shake him off. Though it's a little hard to understand exactly what is happening as the action cuts so rapidly between blurry glimpses of a bright pink blob and the sight of sparks flying, while a deafening and distracting array of crashing and scraping sounds accompanies the visual chaos.

Oriana seems to be captivated regardless...

Following a questionable series of events, the chase becomes a ground-based firefight, with Blasto gracefully spinning and somersaulting over and between market stalls while simultaneously firing off three pistols, even collecting and utilising more weapons from fallen henchmen as he goes.

"That's not how guns work," I feel compelled to advise Oriana while pointing at the pirouetting, pink blur. "They have a lot more kick than that, especially the one he just picked up."

She laughs. "Randa, I know."

"I'm serious, Ori. They're dangerous weapons that should only be used with proper care and attention." Not that I always adhered to that, but then I have years and years of combat experience, and I've certainly never attempted to wield more than one weapon at a time.

Recognising the tone of my voice, she devotes her full attention to addressing me sincerely. "It's OK, Randa. I get it. But I could've done it." Her perceptiveness shows once again. That's a good quality to have. It's the attitude that worries me.

"Ori, killing isn't something to be taken lightly."

"I know that, but he was going to get _us_ killed. I had to act."

Putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder, I state an uncertainty as if it were true. "I had it under control, Ori. There was no need to put yourself in danger like that."

She glances at me and then stares down at her lap.

"You scared me," she admits timidly, head still low.

Faltering, I can only stutter my response, "I..."

"I've seen biotics before. I just...I wasn't aware you were one. Seeing the way you glowed blue and your eyes were burning...and...and feeling the force hit me..."

Biotics are such a common occurrence in my line of work that I'd never even stopped to consider the fact that their usage might alarm someone like Ori. And I'd spared her my father's painful, pioneering surgical procedure for granting biotic potential when I first rescued her from that life.

I never envisioned a Blasto vid inspiring a heartfelt discussion like this.

"Oh, Ori...I never meant to hurt you. I...I overreacted, and I'm sorry." I throw my arms around her and she slowly reciprocates. "It's over now. And we're both safe, so let's just try and forget the whole thing." I release her and smile, tilting my head at the screen. "Now how about you try and explain what we've missed in this silly thing?"

"Right," she chuckles before attempting to assist.

Despite his best efforts and high body count, Blasto appears to have failed at his mission, while inflicting untold destruction upon the city and, as a result, has been partnered with one of the planet's own law enforcement agents. This has left him dissatisfied as he is currently claiming that, "This one operates at optimum efficiency when unaccompanied." While I don't support his methods, I can sympathise with the sentiment...

Just as I think I'm caught up, the door buzzer chimes. I leap to my feet, prepared to act. Already my brain's in combat mode, eyes searching for the closest weapon. Kitchen knives. Not exactly a favourite, but needs must.

"_Miranda_, relax!" Ori scolds me, rising from the sofa and heading to answer it. "It's probably the groceries I ordered."

"When did...oh." Even with my daydreaming, I thought she took a while with the coffee. That explains why. She must have done it via the refrigerator's console.

And she's right. My concern was over nothing. She'd ordered food because she wanted to cook me a meal, insisting that I ate properly for a change. While she prepares it, I'm shooed from the kitchen and instructed to continue watching the vid so as not to completely ruin the surprise.

I do as she wishes, but it's not long before I lose interest in whatever's happening on-screen and decide to try and continue a conversation across the apartment.

"You know, I'm not really one for cooking, myself. And don't get me started on baking. I could never figure that one out."

Oriana can't keep herself from chuckling. "Wait, you rebuilt a man, but you can't make a cake?"

"I never wanted cake," I shrug, playing up to her amusement. "I have to have my priorities."

"And a man lasts you longer, I suppose," she jokes innocently.

Shepard and his predisposition for getting involved in dangerous situations on a regular basis had tried to prove that assertion wrong, but yes, as far as I'm concerned, this one's a keeper.

"Soooo, what's he like?" she dares to ask, looking up from her task to flash me a cheeky smirk. Presumably, she's sensed that now is a appropriate opportunity.

"Ori..." I plead demurely, turning round to face her fully now.

"Oh, come on, I'm your sister. We're supposed to talk to each other about boys!"

"He's not a boy," I correct her impulsively.

"You know what I mean..."

"I...I'm not comfortable talking about it."

"He seems like a really good guy. He loves you," she states boldly, trying to draw me out. She's succeeded, as I quietly take up a stool at the kitchen counter, brushing aside any notion of dinner being kept a secret. Though, I'm not even paying attention to that as she continues, "I could tell. I think he was trying to show some restraint in front of others, but I saw him sat at your bedside, the way he looked at you, the way he talked about you..."

"You spoke to him?" I enquire, hopeful of hearing her own perspective, considering how taciturn Garrus had been.

"For a bit, yeah."

"And?"

She sighs as if burdened by sharing a secret she shouldn't. "He was worried that you'd become strangers. He told me how you used to be able to read one another so well that so much could be left unspoken. Which sounds hopelessly romantic in an odd way. But...because of what happened after we'd left, he thought he'd misunderstood the situation."

Oh god, he blamed himself for what happened?

"He didn't," I clarify. "It's my fault. I was trying to keep him out of the business with that Alliance agent."

"He's a Spectre. Surely he could just pull some strings?" That phrase reawakens the knot of pain in my chest and puts a lump in my throat as I remember Erin. I swallow to no avail. Fortunately, Oriana's too preoccupied with chopping vegetables to notice as she continues, "I mean, what's the point of all that power if you can't get your girlfriend pardoned?"

"He can't know about that. Not ever," I respond in complete disproportion to the light-hearted intent of her comment. Besides, I wouldn't want Shepard using his privileges for something like that.

Oriana stops and watches me for a moment. "I don't mean to pry or whatever, and I'm not really speaking from experience, but you shouldn't be keeping secrets. I'm sure he'd understand."

I'm not sure I'm prepared to take that risk. Perhaps it's easier to spare us both a great deal of pain and just end it. It doesn't feel like the right thing to do, but maybe it's the safest.

"I'll think about it," I tell a disappointed-looking Oriana.

"Sometimes, the things we neglect to say are the ones that need to be said the most," she intones, coming off irritated more than sage.

That sounds rehearsed enough to make an eyebrow raise. "You got that from a magazine."

"You can't prove that," she challenges, smiling now. "It's true though. All my asari friends were very open about their feelings. I think it did more harm than good."

I take a deep breath, hold it for a moment then let it out slowly before baring myself. "He's not like others I've known. There's just...something about him. He brings out the best in people," I pause, feeling my hand moving to scratch that non-existent itch on my neck. "Whereas me...I'm not good for people. I let them down. And wherever he is, I can't be there for him."

"Don't talk like that. You've always been there for me. You still are."

"I know, it's just...who I am, what I'm capable of...I should be doing greater things. Using my talents for noble, unselfish purposes. Through all the questionable things I did, that's what I clung to. It's about the only thing I know."

"You sound like a superhero," Oriana remarks, again looking like she's trying to cheer me up. My puzzled expression encourages her to try and elaborate, "'With great power...' Never mind. A hero, you're my hero. My guardian angel. The troubleshooting space diva."

"I'm not a hero, Ori. And you shouldn't want to be like me," I tell her sternly.

I disappoint people, use people. Kill people. Though I must admit that description has a certain charm to it. _Troubleshooting space diva_.

Rather than arguing back like I would expect, she cocks her head and looks at me sympathetically. "Is this about Cerberus? About what your father said?"

It sounds like he must have told her about me. In a most unflattering manner, I imagine.

While it was true that we could stop running, that also means confronting who you are and what you've done. And there was no escaping the fact that the man had left an indelible mark on me. Erin saw as much. It was always a matter of noticing when it was having a negative impact. That was the hard part. Rebuilding a man was one thing, unmaking yourself and filtering out the unwanted elements is another entirely.

For now, destroying my past was the only means of escaping it. And it's never that simple.

"It's about what Cerberus has become. I thought I was doing good, but that only works if the ends justify the means. And if this is what it all led up to..." I glance down at my right hand to find the mixture of anger and regret has caused it to clench into a fist. Opening it, I finish my thought, "I intend to stop them from doing any more harm. Let's put it that way."

"As long as you look after yourself. There are at least two people who care very much about what happens to you." She gives me a sincere look before a smile slowly spreads across her face. "Now, out of my kitchen. You've already distracted me enough."

"Oh, charming..." I protest in mock offence while doing as she says.

"We'll talk more later. With wine."

I rejoin the Blasto vid to find what I assume is the villain of the piece – to my surprise, another hanar – currently being apprehended, at a much earlier point and after much less fuss and bloodshed than I would have anticipated. It seems I'm not alone though, as a few of the characters share my sentiment, remarking on how easy it all was. He's then escorted to the good guy's headquarters and locked in an unusually neat and well-maintained interview room where he sits patiently while the camera chooses some odd angles and the lighting on his particular spot suddenly dims; all so as to convey a sinister mood, I assume. As far as I can tell, his appearance is barely distinguishable from that of Blasto, which only makes the following interrogation scene even more confusing. It's here that he pitches as many probing questions as he receives from the heroic duo, and in a polite monotone almost exactly the same as Blasto's.

While I'm attempting to make sense of whatever is being said about what or whom, Oriana plunks herself down next to me with an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion.

"Phew! That's a meal that involves a lot of work. Fortunately, it's all in the preparation."

It did look fairly complicated, and I didn't recognise a few of the ingredients. "Oh, what is it?"

"It's an asari recipe, that's all I'll say."

That would explain the ingredients as well as the lack of concern for the complexity or lengthiness of its preparation; factors that had dissuaded me from making my own attempt at asari cuisine. "What's it called?" I ask innocently.

She shakes her head at me and points, knowingly. "I'm not saying, because then you'll recognise it."

"You got me." I concede and nod at the screen like before. Ori takes the hint, happy to oblige.

"OK, so, they've caught the bad guy and it's revealed that he and Blasto go back some way. Now he's playing mind games, bringing up their shared past to try and demonstrate how similar Blasto is to him, trying to turn everyone else against him. He'd planned to get caught all along."

"Right..." That sounds...foolish. That sort of plan would never work. "So then what?"

"Well, he already has a man on the inside who is about to help him escape. That was part of his plan."

"I see. It sounds a bit like logic has taken a backseat to drama."

"Just go with it." She rocks to the side and playfully punches me on the arm then freezes instantly and gasps, hand in front of her mouth. "I'm so sorry! I forgot!"

"It's fine. I mend quickly." I'm not lying, but it might help if I try to follow her example and ease up a little. "Though, if watching this is going to make you violent, perhaps we'd..." She interrupts me with another jab to my shoulder and immediately leaps up, dashing back to the kitchen before I even get a chance to retaliate. "I hope this isn't how you treat all your guests," I call after her.

Eventually, with dinner served, things become a little more relaxed. And it's a very nice meal too, of the sort I hadn't really experienced outside of certain restaurants I'd visited on occasion. Or since I'd lived with my father and his full kitchen staff. I don't let the memory spoil the moment, choosing to focus only on the present and the positive. In that same spirit, I don't decline when Oriana gleefully presents a bottle of wine.

Drinks in hand, we find our way back to the sofa and resume watching the vid. Maybe it's the alcohol starting to have an effect, but I'm feeling a little more engaged in my viewing now, happy to surrender to the atmosphere and _just go with it_.

Following the fallout from the villainous hanar escaping, Blasto is at a low point, having lost everyone's confidence and his Spectre status as well as being kicked off the case. It seems to be the typical low point for this sort of narrative right before things get better. And Oriana assures me that _"This is when it gets really good."_

Through a series of devious tactics, the hanar pursues his foe with increased determination, not letting his lack of official approval stand in his way. In fact, it's the shedding of his attention-drawing status and consequent hubris, combined with a willingness to impersonate his enemy and his methods, that ultimately brings him victory. And with the rogue hanar killed, everything wraps up neatly. Blasto is reinstated as a Spectre, winning back everyone's trust and the status quo is restored. If only real life were that simple...

"So, what did you think of your first Blasto _experience_?" she asks, watching for my reaction even as she sips some more wine.

"For the most part, it was a little daft and hollow, but I thought it got better towards the end. He started using his brain instead of bullets, and was able to work outside of the law, even for a Spectre. Sometimes, that's the only way to get things done."

Oriana starts laughing uncontrollably. "Oh, my god!" she exclaims between breaths. "You empathise with Blasto the hanar Spectre, don't you?"

Slightly embarrassed, I try and defend myself. "No, it's just..."

"Randa, I'm only teasing."

"Right," I nod, feeling my cheeks burning slightly. Drinking usually helps bring out the colour.

"Want to watch something else?"

"I think I'd rather just sit and talk, Ori. And it's getting pretty late anyway. I'm not sure I'd last another gratuitous shootout."

"Oh, OK. What did you want to talk about? Music? Clothes? Boys?" She asks, eyes widening in jest to punctuate each suggestion.

"Anything," I answer sincerely. " I want to know how you are. I want to talk like we used to. Before...before all this. Even if it means passing out on your sofa."

"There's nothing wrong with _my_ sofa," she beams, welcoming my choice of words. "And you can have the bed anyway. Though it sounds more like you're fond of sleeping at desks even when a bed is ten feet away."

"How did..." I gasp, as another thought occurs. "And who told you that?"

"While you were...recovering, I was given a tour."

Another thing I missed...

"Oh, what did you think?"

She nods. "Cool ship."

"Cool ship? Ori, it's one of the most advanced starships in the galaxy, it has...right," I pause, catching her glare. _Lighten up_. Rolling my eyes, I concur grudgingly, "Cool ship."

"And it was Garrus who told me," she reveals with a devilish grin.

"Garrus?"

Since when was he aware of my sleeping habits? I'd been extremely security conscious ever since a certain tattooed misfit stormed in and rearranged my furniture. The open door policy had remained, but I'd set up safety measures to identify and keep out any unwelcome visitors should the need arise. Falling asleep would have put those on high alert.

"Ah...I shouldn't be telling you this."

"But you will," I guess, smirking.

"Garrus and Shepard seem pretty close."

I know Shepard tended to share things with Garrus that he might not have with me. It's the main reason I'd bothered to seek the turian's insight at all. Normally, I'd have employed more subtle and indirect methods of gleaning information.

"They've been through a lot together," I confirm.

"Well, it appears Shepard may have let slip about the time he found you asleep at your desk and that it was 'the most adorable thing he'd ever seen.'" Adorable?! Ori laughs at my look of disgust before continuing, "Garrus said he was glad just to know you definitely weren't a machine."

"Oh, how wonderful. Anything else I should know?"

"Umm..." Oriana starts, rubbing the back of her neck uncomfortably. "He's a little unhappy about letting us go on Sanctuary. He was a bit reluctant to share details, but he did overrule Ashley and he feels as if he let Shepard down. If anything really bad had happened..."

That would explain the fairly tepid reception he had given me afterwards. He knew how much I meant to Shepard and that his sense of duty meant looking out for me too. Or making sure I looked after myself. I'd always found that belief in loyalty and responsibility shared by most turians to be an appealing trait, though I'd never anticipated it ever applying to myself in any capacity. I'm flattered in some ways.

"How did we get to talking about me again?" I complain. "Tell me about your asari friends. Or what about that boy from Earth History? What was his name..."

"You know full well what his name is! Danner."

And so, as I'd wanted, we spent a while discussing the simple mundane stuff just like we had months before. She told me about her studies and her friends, revealing that she wasn't liked by most of her human classmates, who sounded like they were jealous of her near perfect grades and other academic accomplishments. Hence the aforementioned, more welcoming asari friends.

As the conversation went on, I could sense her distress at realising how much things really had changed. Every name she mentioned was done with hesitation, unsure of the person's fate, having been cut off from the outside world by my father. I'm not the best at comforting people, so all I could do was listen to her and try to find 'positive' responses.

Starting to wish she knew more about galactic events, she switches the vidscreen through news channels while I get up to fetch myself some water. She settles on the Alliance News Network and I'm reminded of their exclusives aboard the Normandy, featuring interviews where I could glimpse Shepard fulfilling his Alliance poster boy duties once more, standing proud in what was once nothing more than a storage/waste disposal area while making bold, inspirational statements for the galaxy to hear. I'd never been particularly enamoured with the practice myself, but I recognised its value when it came to winning wars.

As I reach for the kitchen tap, I'm startled by a sudden scream from Oriana and the sound of glass smashing. Whirling round, I see she's dropped her wine on the tiled floor and has her hands loosely cupped in front of her mouth in shock. I set my own glass down on the nearest surface and dash back over. She's unable to speak through her tears, instead using a quivering hand to point at the screen, afraid to look herself.

Instantly, I can see what must have caused her reaction. In a bid to attract more viewers in the highly-competitive news market, a few networks had taken to broadcasting 'footage from the frontlines', sourced from third parties, no matter how amateur. Currently, there are very shaky but quite discernible images of husks, blue dots piercing the darkness as droves of them rush into view, clambering over debris before launching themselves against a wall and making towards the camera.

Having seen enough, I turn the screen off, and instinctively throw my arms around Oriana. She grips me tightly, resting her head against my shoulder. I hold her for a few moments in silence, unsure what else I can do. I've never had to, or attempted to, comfort someone when they're like this. She appears to have stopped crying but she's still trembling, so I offer some hushed reassurances that I repeat a few times until she regains her composure.

Letting go and slowly sitting back up, she looks at me with swollen, doleful eyes. "Don't go. Please."

Clearly, her experience on Sanctuary had left her more shaken than I'd assumed. Though I suspect the alcohol's played a part. Regardless, I may have to try and reunite her with her parents sooner rather than later. As much as I'd hate to, it might be worth seeing if I can override her arrangement with the Alliance. Any thoughts on that can wait though. Right now, she needs my full attention.

"I'll stay for a while," I answer, "but we need some rest. Get to bed. I'll clear this up and bring you in some water."

She nods and heads off to the bedroom without another word.

When I finally rejoin her, she's already changed and fallen straight to sleep. As I pull the covers over her properly, I notice that she looks fairly peaceful. Perhaps that's a good sign she wasn't affected too deeply. Spotting an empty seat in the corner, I take up sitting there, where I drink the water myself and watch over her until keeping my eyes open becomes too difficult.

I awake before Ori and carefully make my way out of the room. I have some errands to run, but I can't just leave her. Instead, I bide my time with coffee and extranet news until she emerges, still in her pyjamas, hair lightly tousled, rubbing her eyes and yawning as she drops down onto the sofa next to me and leans her head against my shoulder. While I'm sure the gesture is perfectly natural to her, it leaves me feeling a little awkward.

"Sorry about last night," she mumbles, voice still dry from alcohol and slumber. "Thanks for staying."

"Ori, you don't have to apologise. And I wasn't going to leave you."

"You sleep OK?"

It took a bit of stretching to work out the aches, and my neck's still a little sore, but I wanted to make sure she slept soundly.

"Yeah, just fine," I answer simply. "I'm going to have to leave you for a bit, if that's OK." I wait for a confirmation. She nods politely. "I have an errand to run...but first, I need to borrow your shower."

"Be my guest," she says, slowly waving a hand back towards the bedroom door.

Washed and dressed, I depart, though not without warning Ori to be careful about unwanted visitors. On my way, I consider the plans I had for Ori's immediate future but decide it's best not to interfere. As hard as it is, I need to try and be a little more hands-off.

Ensuring I'm not being followed, I arrange Oriana's parents' trip to the Citadel, before heading towards the equipment drop-off. Once that's retrieved, I head straight back to Oriana's apartment, stopping only to check the contents and equip one of the omni-tools. I have other things to take care of, but this needs doing before I leave indefinitely.

Ori, also now looking ready for the day, fixes me another coffee while I double-check I didn't miss any Alliance surveillance on my first sweep. Satisfied, I lay out the case of goods and select one of the two remaining omni-tools, placing it on the counter for her to see.

Once she turns and passes me the drink, she spots it and eyes me curiously.

"It's yours," I explain. "Military-spec and invisible to most scanners."

"...Why?"

"You need some means of protection."

She rolls her eyes theatrically. "Honestly, you're almost as bad as dad."

That's a comparison I can live with, I suppose.

She goes to take the device, but I place a hand on it first. "Understand that it's not a toy. It has potentially lethal functions if things get really desperate, but there are perfectly suitable self-defence features otherwise."

"Got it," she replies, though I don't relinquish my grip just yet.

"Promise me you'll be careful, Ori. And don't let them send you anywhere dangerous."

"You worry too much, Randa."

"I worry just the right amount. Promise me," I insist.

She sighs. "I promise I'll stay safe."

That'll have to do. It's a lot better than I get from the other person in my life, at least.

"Your parents are on their way and shouldn't be more than a few hours. I'll have to get going soon though. Will you be all right on your own?"

"Of course," she smiles faintly. "And thank you... for everything. It's been nice hanging out with you."

"'Hanging out'? Is that what we were doing?"

"Yes, and you'd better get used to it."

We chat a little more while eating breakfast, but before long it's time to get going. Reluctantly, I leave my seat and say my goodbyes, thanking her for the hospitality and repeating my earlier warnings in the process.

Ori grabs me for one long, final hug. "I love you, sis. And you be safe, OK?"

Sis? That's a new one, and I'm not sure I like it...

"I'll try," I respond. "I'm proud of you, Ori."

"You too, Randa."

After another all too short round of goodbyes, I'm out the door for good, and back into the fray...

* * *

**A/N: Reference overload! Bet you can't spot them all.**

**I was worried I'd gotten a little carried away with the 'lighter' material (and I don't think I'm great with the gentle moments). So big thanks to Awska for giving this a read and assuaging those fears (and helping out with the usual stuff, of course)!**

**Also thanks to Lilivati (another very talented writer) who helped with the final draft of the "Sometimes, the things we neglect to say are the ones that need to be said the most" line. It may seem minor, but all the little things help!**

**And, yes, my continuous gratitude to all you lovely people still following! I really wish I could be a little quicker with the updates.**


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